


Derailed

by water_lily43175



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, Miscarriage, Mystery, Next Generation, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 70,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27775069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/water_lily43175/pseuds/water_lily43175
Summary: Derail; transitive verb: to upset the stability or composure ofShe never thought she’d have to choose between the world she’d entered and the one she’d left behind.“This is the biggest move we’ve made in centuries. If we get it wrong, hell will rain down on us all.”(Sequel to Off the Rails.)
Relationships: James Sirius Potter/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. uno

**Author's Note:**

> As the summary states this is the sequel to my fic Off the Rails. If you haven't read that yet, I strongly advise you do so before embarking on this one, because otherwise lots of this fic will not make sense.
> 
> Just to give you a sense of time scale, our story starts exactly two years after Off the Rails began, and half a year after its epilogue.

“I can’t believe you’re actually going,” Ginny bristled, setting a plate down on the table a little more forcefully than necessary.  
  
“You can say that as much as you like, but you’re not going to stop me,” James replied firmly, crossing his arms defiantly.  
  
She sighed.  
  
“It’s a _ridiculous_ idea,” she lamented. “ _Why_ Lily ever thought it would be okay is beyond me...”  
  
“So why aren’t you at hers giving her this lecture?” he interjected.  
  
“Because Saturdays are your morning. Besides, that’s your Dad’s job for today, not mine.”  
  
“I don’t understand why Dad’s against it,” he said, still ignoring his breakfast. “I thought he fought the Malfoys’ corner, after the war?”  
  
“He kept them out of prison, that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly best friends with them,” she pointed out. “Besides, it’s not just _who_ it is, it’s _where_ it is. A Squib Foundation dinner in Malfoy Manor? It’s utterly ridiculous. Do you know what happened to your Aunt Hermione in their drawing room?”  
  
“ _Yes_ , I know, as does Rosie, and it’s not stopped her seeing Scorpius, has it?” James’ voice grew louder, as it did when talking about something he felt passionately about.  
  
“No, but you’ll notice she doesn’t visit his grandparents for afternoon tea every week, and there’s a reason for that,” Ginny said sharply. “I’ll give Scorpius the benefit of the doubt, but his father and grandfather in particular are not nice people. I don’t doubt for a minute that Lucius has ulterior motives for being the Foundation’s patron, and while I’ll not complain about him funding their work, I _will_ complain about him hosting their events. And Lily plans to walk in there, bold as brass? It absolutely beggars belief. More to the point, _you_ think it’s okay to take Carlotta there?”  
  
I hid a wince. I’d known it was only a matter of time before my name came up in conversation.  
  
“I really don’t mind-” I began, not wanting to be used as a point of conflict between them.  
  
James slammed his palms down on the kitchen table, and glared at her.  
  
“Are you suggesting I don’t care for her enough to keep her safe?” he said darkly.  
  
“It’s got nothing to do with _keeping anyone safe_ , James, I hardly think Lucius Malfoy plans to butcher half his guests! I just think it’s completely and utterly tactless to-”  
  
He got to his feet, knocking over the chair he’d been sitting on.  
  
“I’m supporting my sister,” he said thunderously. “If you don’t want to, then so be it, but you’re not going to change my mind. Now if you excuse me, I have a Quidditch match to referee.”  
  
And with that he left, disregarding the plate of untouched food on the table. Moments later we heard him clatter down the stairs on his way out.  
  
Ginny let out a sigh, and fell into the chair behind her.  
  
“I _hate_ arguing with him,” she muttered. “I hate arguing with any of my kids, but James ... he _never_ raises his voice, not when he’s got his head screwed on at any rate.”  
  
I knew exactly what she meant. Lily was incredibly hot-headed, and even Albus – calm, rational Albus – wasn’t averse to a shouting match. But James rarely lost his temper; in fact, I didn’t think he had at all since his breakdown of a year and a half ago.  
  
“You shouldn’t feel as though you have to go with him tonight, you know,” she continued, looking up at me.  
  
“I don’t,” I said firmly.  
  
If she could tell I was lying, she didn’t say anything.  
  
“I just...” she looked down at her hands. “There is _so much_ bad blood between these families, you know? And while we try to look past that for Rose’s sake – after all, Scorpius can hardly help what his family’s done in the past – there comes a point when it just gets too much. Yes, they’ve apologised and repented and we’ve forgiven, but...” She drew in a deep breath. “I’ll never forget how I felt when I learned that Harry, Ron and Hermione had been held captive there. We only found out after they’d escaped and made it to Bill and Fleur’s, but ... the thought that they’d come so close to death, _again_...”  
  
She swallowed.  
  
“They think they understand. James, and Lily, and Rose ... all of them. They think they know what we went through, know how bad it was. But ... they don’t. They don’t know what it felt like, they don’t know we still remember it all clear as day ... it’s just stories to them, but it’s _our_ past. We _lived_ it. To them, that house is just bricks and mortar, but it’s so much more than that. It’s a symbol of what happened, a reminder that we put our lives on the line, and the Malfoys were more than willing to take them...”  
  
She drew in another breath, sitting upright. “And you can’t just hold a Squib rights event there and hope it’s going to make it all better, expect us to be _okay_ with it. And then when we’re not, we’re being unreasonable...”  
  
It was the most Ginny had ever said to me about the war she and her family had witnessed and fought through.  
  
“He doesn’t mean to do it, you know,” I said quietly. “James. He just ... he’s loyal, and he’s forgiving, you know that.”  
  
“He’s too good, you mean.” She smiled wryly at me. “He’s inherited Harry’s pure heart. All three of them have. And they want to believe people can be forgiven for misdeeds, and they’re willing to stand by each other no matter what ... and I can’t fault that. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But they need to understand that for those of us who were there, it’s more personal than that. There’s no chance Hermione or Ron would set foot in that place ever again, and Harry won’t go there out of respect for them. And frankly, I don’t want to go there either. There are ghosts in that place, ghosts of past sins, and I’m not about to disturb them. If my children want to go ... well, I can’t stop them; that much is evident. But I can _try_.”  
  
She looked straight at me, and I _knew_ she knew I’d lied. “And I’d feel much more at ease if you didn’t go.”  
  
I smiled wryly, and got to my feet.  
  
“We both know I don’t have a say in the matter,” I said, collecting up the cleared – and in James’ case untouched – breakfast plates. “If I don’t go, he’ll be angry at me as well as you, and I’m sure you want to avoid that as much as I do.”  
  
It was her turn to smile.  
  
“I only hope, for your sake, that he leaves his foul mood out on the Quidditch pitch,” she said. “Here, I’ll clear away, you should go downstairs and help set up.”  
  
“No, it’s fine; you cooked, you shouldn’t have to clear up as well-”  
  
“Darling, you’re going to have enough plates to clear away today. I’m sure I can manage this lot.” Ginny took the plates from my hands. “Go on, scram.”  
  
One thing I’d learned very early on was that nobody said no to a Weasley mother, especially not when it came to kitchen-related matters. So I headed out of the kitchen, and down the small, precariously rickety wooden staircase. It had taken me a long time to believe James’ assertions that magic would hold it together.  
  
But then, none of this building would be standing if not for magic.  
  
Lauren was already prepping the tables for breakfast, and looked up as I opened the door at the bottom of the staircase.  
  
“Good morning...” she began tentatively.  
  
I couldn’t hide my smile.  
  
“I’m guessing James stomped through just now looking mightily angry?”  
  
She returned the smile, looking relieved to see his fight hadn’t been with me, and I wasn’t as irritated as he was.  
  
“He had a face like thunder,” she said. “It’s a good thing he’s up at the school today, or he’d be spreading his bad mood round the whole pub.”  
  
“If that were the case I’d ground him,” I said lightly. “Or send him up the road to Wheezes, if any place can get rid of a foul mood it’s there. Do you need a hand with anything?”  
  
“I’m nearly done, just Room Three’s table to go. Daryl and Aggie are both here. You should’ve _seen_ the hunk of beef Daryl brought in with him, I was drooling like a baby when I saw it.”  
  
I laughed.  
  
“I’ll have to go check it out, won’t I? Back in a mo.”  
  
The smell of glorious breakfast food hit me the moment I opened the door into the kitchens. Even though I'd already eaten, my stomach let out a little grumble.  
  
My chefs were both busy cooking, and looked up as I appeared.  
  
“Morning, chick!” Aggie said brightly. “Good breakfast with Mrs P?”  
  
I groaned.  
  
“They argued about tonight _again_. Ended with James storming out in a huff.”  
  
“Is he still going?” Daryl asked.  
  
“Of course he is,” I sighed. “As am I, unfortunately. But less about that. How are we doing?”  
  
“All fine, love, as usual,” Aggie said. “On with you now, the guests will be coming down soon!”  
  
I smiled fondly; Aggie loved bossing people about. But I heeded her words, and headed back out to the main pub.  
  
I’d thought James was joking when he’d first suggested buying the Three Broomsticks. Either that, or he and Freddie had done one too many shots of Firewhisky while getting ready for his and Brigid’s wedding ceremony. But I _certainly_ didn’t take it seriously. How were we supposed to run a pub?  
  
But he’d been deadly serious. I’d always wanted my own pub or restaurant, he reasoned, and this was the perfect opportunity. There were so few wizarding pubs in Britain that the chance to own one was miniscule; if we didn’t buy up now, when Madam Rosmerta was looking to sell, it would be a long wait for the next chance. And, rightly or wrongly, it was much easier to own a food establishment in Wizarding Britain than in Muggle Britain. There it would be a hard fought battle to acquire one, and abide by all the health and safety regulations, food hygiene laws, employment laws and licensing policy. In the wizarding world, none of these obstacles existed; all you needed to run a pub was the money to buy it and the knowledge of how to eke a profit from it.  
  
Not that I exploited my staff, or kept the place any less than spotlessly hygienic. But I had to admit, it _was_ a lot easier to get on with things without feeling the law breathing down my neck.  
  
Moving to Hogsmeade also meant being closer to James at Hogwarts. Of course, distance meant little when wizards could Apparate and Floo, and in his first year teaching he’d spent as much time at the flat as at the school. But all the same it was nice to feel I was only down the road from him, rather than on the other side of the country. And we were also just down from Freddie and Brigid, in their flat over the shop.  
  
But the decision hadn’t been an easy one. After all, the Three Broomsticks was a well established and well loved wizarding pub; how would its patrons feel about a Muggle landlady? James had insisted nobody would care a jot so long as the food and drink was good, but that didn’t stop me worrying. Furthermore, even in August last year I still couldn’t even see Hogsmeade. How was I supposed to run a pub I couldn’t see?  
  
“We have time, Rosmerta isn’t looking to sell straight away,” James had reassured me. “She’ll wait around until we’re ready to buy, you don’t need to worry about that.”  
  
But I did worry. In the end, it had taken a good two months before I could get past the anti-Muggle wards on Hogsmeade. They were far stronger than those on Diagon Alley, and weaker only than those protecting Hogwarts. After all, it was the only entirely wizarding village in Britain.  
  
But we’d bought the pub and taken it over by October and after another two months, Hogwarts had finally come into view. I didn’t think I would ever forget the feeling of seeing that incredible castle for the first time. Now I could see it, I looked up at it every time I was outside, unable to let any chance of gazing at it pass me by.  
  
By far the biggest issue had been how moving to Hogsmeade impacted on me. My parents and brother and sister all lived on the outskirts of London and it had been an almighty struggle, explaining to them that I was moving hundreds of miles away to Scotland, to run a pub. In Muggle terms, it was a long way and it was hard to listen to them vowing to visit, when I knew there was no chance of that. I had to insist on being the one to visit them and even that created problems. Of course, I could get to London in ten seconds flat and was in Diagon Alley three times a week, visiting Gringotts and buying things I couldn't get in Hogsmeade, but they couldn't know that. They had to believe the journey was a long one, one that needed planning in advance.  
  
I also hadn’t realised how removed from Muggle society I would become. I still had the television and radio, thankfully, as the wizarding world had adapted them to work with magic. It still interfered with the internet signal though, as they hadn't got around to that yet, and I doubted they ever would – it didn’t seem like they needed it. The Muggle postal service didn't even know the place existed and as for phones, there was no chance of getting any mobile signal here. We didn’t even have a landline; the only phone in the village was the public one the Ministry had installed a few years back, mostly for the Muggle-born students at Hogwarts, who needed a way to contact their families and friends. They didn't seem to realise they were at least eighty years behind and that Muggles now tended to communicate via the internet, rather than by phone calls.  
  
I knew my parents and friends found it odd I could only speak to them at pre-arranged times, through a public phone box. There were still a few remote places in Britain, but understandably they couldn’t fathom how I could only contact them from a phone box but could still watch all their television programmes.  
  
It was frustrating for me, knowing that I could write to them by owl post, or send a message through the Floo, or even travel to see them by Floo. But they couldn’t know any of that.  
  
Still, I didn’t regret a single thing about moving to Hogsmeade. I’d only been here four months, but already I was in love with the place, the job and the people. This was what I’d always wanted, and I had it in my grasp far quicker than I’d ever envisaged, even in my wildest dreams. As for being surrounded by magic all day every day ... well, it never ceased to amaze me. I felt like a child in a sweet shop most of the time.  
  
The enslavement of House Elves, however, was one aspect of the magical world I disliked, and I was reminded of it when Kreacher popped into view in front of me as I wiped down the bar counter.  
  
“Hello, Kreacher dear,” I said fondly, trying to ignore the fact he’d sunk into a deep bow in my favour.  
  
I did like Kreacher, and he was wonderful to have around. I just didn’t like that he felt the need to bow every time he saw me, refer to me as his mistress, and obey every word I said. But I knew I didn’t have a say in the matter. The brain-washing was far too entrenched for anyone to change him, so all we could do was offer him an environment in which he wouldn’t be mistreated. There was protection for House Elves these days, but some of them didn’t even realise this existed, let alone think they needed it.  
  
We’d bought the pub at an ideal time for Kreacher. He’d worked up at Hogwarts since James had started there as a First Year, but he really was too old to keep up in the kitchens these days. For a while, Harry and Ginny had been at a loss as to what to do about him. Freeing him was out of the question, but Ginny worked from home these days, and housework and cooking was what she did when stuck on writing an article, which apparently happened often. So they’d suggested he move in with us in the pub instead.  
  
He had his own room in the flat upstairs, and we gave him as much as we could without offending or upsetting him. It was a delicate situation at times, and not one which I particularly enjoyed. But he was a superb cook, and had that House Elf ability to get on with his business without being noticed, which was a blessing in the mornings when we needed to clean upstairs without waking the guests. That was where he’d just come from this morning.  
  
“Miss Carla,” he began; I winced. “Kreacher has cleaned the corridors upstairs, would Miss like him to clean Master and Miss’ rooms now?”  
  
“No, don’t worry about that,” I insisted, knowing he’d end up doing it at some point anyway. I’d lost track of the number of times I’d walked in on him cleaning the living room or the bedroom. But I’d rather he not try to clean the kitchen when Ginny was doing just that; I didn’t need them getting in each other’s way. “Just cleaning the guests’ bedrooms when they’re down here having breakfast will be fine.”  
  
He bowed again and disappeared with a crack, just as Ginny headed downstairs.  
  
“I’ll head off now, get out of your hair before you start serving breakfast,” she said with a smile. Then she took my hand, and the smile was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Look after yourself later, won’t you? I know James thinks everything will be fine, but I can’t help worrying.”  
  
“I’ll be fine.” I squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You know me, I like to keep a low profile.”  
  
She raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Just don’t try outwitting any purebloods. They don’t like being made to feel stupid, especially not by lesser beings.” She tucked a loose curl of hair behind my ear, and kissed my cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.”  
  
“Looking forward to it.” I smiled. “Thanks for breakfast!”  
  
She smiled, then dropped my hand and headed out of the pub.  
  
Sometimes, I missed seeing my Mamá. But whenever I did, Ginny Potter managed to remind me that these days I as good as had two mothers.  
  
It was the best feeling in the world.


	2. dos

It was a little later on in the day – and so a little closer to the dreaded dinner, I thought reluctantly – that the bell over the door clanged as the door opened, and a small group of youths entered, clad in hats, scarves and gloves – for it was a cold, snowy January day. I raised an eyebrow as they approached the bar.  
  
“I didn’t think today was a Hogsmeade visit,” I said to the miscreants. “Shouldn’t you be watching the match?”  
  
One of the students, a Gryffindor Sixth Year called Connor, snorted.  
  
“It’s a Unicorn League match; nobody wants to watch _them_ ,” he said distastefully.  
  
“You never know, you might find Gryffindor’s next Quidditch star in that match,” I pointed out. “You know, you’ll get both me and Professor Potter into big trouble if any of the other teachers find out you visit when you’re not supposed to.”  
  
“Aww, James will get us out of it-” began Roscoe, a fellow Gryffindor.  
  
“ _Professor Potter_ , and just because he’s ... not as strict ... as other teachers, doesn’t mean he disregards the rules-”  
  
“But he does,” Connor finished.  
  
“And how will they find out, anyway?” added Isaac, another Sixth Year but, unlike his comrades, a Slytherin. “You’re not going to tell on us, are you, Carly?”  
  
“Oi, watch it,” I said, trying to sound stern and stop the smile from spreading across my face. “Only one man is allowed to call me Carly, and it’s certainly not _you_.”  
  
Roscoe pulled a face.  
  
“Oh Merlin, it’s not James’ special bedroom name for you, is it?”  
  
“ _No_ – and it’s Professor Potter! Carly is what my dad calls me. _You_ can call me Carlotta, or Carla if I’m feeling generous.”  
  
“And are you feeling generous today, Miss Carlotta?” Isaac asked silkily.  
  
“Do you smooth-talk yourself out of all situations?” I asked, this time failing to stop the smirk. “Now come on, boys, if you must stay then at least do it discreetly and not at the bar counter where it’s obvious I know you’re here.”  
  
“If only you were a witch,” sighed Isaac. “You’d have made a mighty Slytherin. Four Firewhiskies, please.”  
  
“No Firewhisky,” I said flatly. “I’m not allowed to serve alcohol to Hogwarts students, you know the rules.”  
  
“But _Carla_...” Roscoe wheedled.  
  
The fourth member of the group, Sebastian, who was a shy and retiring Ravenclaw, stepped forwards and slid a bar of Honeydukes chocolate across the counter.  
  
“And now you’re trying to make me accept bribes,” I sighed dramatically, taking the bar all the same. “Cheers, lads, I’ll have that as payment for pretending you weren’t here. I’m still not serving you Firewhisky though.”  
  
Their shoulders dropped as one.  
  
“If you’re sneaky enough to leave Hogwarts on a day you’re not supposed to, then you’re sneaky enough to work out how to get hold of Firewhisky. For a start, if you’re that determined you really should have gone to the Hog’s Head...”  
  
“It’s nicer here,” Connor pointed out.  
  
“Well, I’m flattered, boys, but still no Firewhisky I’m afraid, not direct from me to you at any rate. What will it be, Butterbeer?”  
  
“Yeah, that’ll do,” Roscoe grunted.  
  
Once I’d served them four steaming hot tankards of Butterbeer, they headed off to sit in a corner as I’d suggested. As they did so, Brigid Weasley took their place at the bar.  
  
“Afternoon, neighbour,” I greeted her. “Good day at the shop?”  
  
“We’ve made a couple of sales so far,” she said in an airy voice which told me she’d just had my truanting customers pay her a visit, and she was as inclined to report them as I was. After all, neither of us were about to complain about our biggest source of income.  
  
“James paid us a visit earlier,” she then said, pulling a face.  
  
I groaned.  
  
“He didn’t come to spread his bad mood around, did he?”  
  
“Oh, he was fine in the end. Nobody ever _leaves_ Wheezes with a bad mood. I just can’t wait until this dinner is over, and we don’t have to deal with all this family tension.”  
  
Brigid and Freddie weren’t in quite as bad a situation as I was. For a start, Freddie’s parents were also going to the dinner – despite George considering the Malfoy a “bunch of slimy little sleazeballs”. It seemed he and Angelina had little personal bad feeling towards the Malfoys, and so were able to put aside past disagreements, if only just for the night. Although I suspected if any of the family had had any involvement in the death of George’s twin Fred all those years ago, George would have been the first person in the queue to tell Lily she was doing the wrong thing. It was easier to forgive people when their wrongdoing didn’t directly affect you. Without that parental tension hanging over Freddie and Brigid, they were obviously having a far easier time of things than James and I were.  
  
But the issue of the dinner, and the Squib Foundation’s patrons, had led to wider tensions within the Weasley family, which proved an issue when they were usually such a tight-knit unit. Nana Molly and Grandpa Arthur had refused to attend straight away, which according to James was to be expected; Arthur and Lucius were virtually arch-enemies. Bill had been willing to go, to support Lily, but Fleur had refused. She still vividly remembered attending to Hermione after she, Harry and Ron had escaped Malfoy Manor during the war, and so had objected immediately. This had led to a marital spat within the Lupin household, as Teddy had been determined to support his ‘sister’ and go to the dinner, but Victoire hadn’t wanted to go out of respect for her mother. Eventually it was Victoire who had conceded.  
  
“He’ll go either way,” she’d reasoned to me over a Firewhisky one December night, “and I can’t blame him for that, he wants to do this for Lily. And so do I, I just know how Maman feels about it and I feel like to go would mean trampling on her feelings. But I also feel like I owe this to him. Besides, Mrs Malfoy is Teddy’s great-aunt, and Andromeda will be there too ... I’m his wife, and they’re his family, and this is _my_ family ... _Merlin_ , we’re messed up.”  
  
So Teddy and Victoire were going, as were Dominique and her husband Ethan – leaving Bill and Fleur to babysit the grandchildren. Louis was of course also going; he never said no to a social outing.  
  
Percy’s side of the family had, like George’s, avoided the confrontation that had struck most of the family, as he, Audrey, Molly and Lucy were all willing to go to the dinner. Percy, who might usually have sniffed at his family for not attending a benefit dinner and supporting a family member, had remained quiet on the issue.  
  
Harry and Ginny were also refusing to visit the Malfoys' house, despite James, Albus and Lily’s determined solidarity. But it was Hugo’s stance which had caused the biggest, most vicious row.  
  
Hugo’s initial conflict had been with Lily, as he’d demanded to know how she could have even considered involving the Malfoy family in her fundraising efforts, let alone using their house as a venue. It was disrespectful to his mother, he’d argued, and Lily had been ignorant in not consulting Hermione before agreeing on the plans with Lucius Malfoy. Lily’s response had been that she was simply acting in the best interests of the Squib Foundation, which needed all the financial and social support it could get, and besides, they were Scorpius’ family and that should be enough to stop Hugo badmouthing them.  
  
And that had brought Rose into the argument. Because she considered Hugo’s refusal to attend the dinner to be a snubbing of Scorpius and his family. And that in itself had turned into a wider row, as Hugo admitted that he really didn’t like his sister seeing Scorpius, especially as their relationship was becoming more serious. That had pulled James and Albus back into the fray, as Albus shared Hugo’s dislike of Scorpius and James strongly felt he and Rose should be left to do as they chose.  
  
I’d tried to stay well away from proceedings. Unfortunately, it seemed that running a pub meant people assumed they had an open invitation to visit whenever they liked. And so I’d had to sit through hours of Weasley relations ranting at me about the whole sordid affair. It wasn’t as though I got any respite from the topic after hours, given I lived with James. It might not have been so bad – I always liked having visitors, especially if they were James’ family – if not for the fact that I had no idea whether I thought Lily was doing the right thing or not.  
  
“Do you want to go?” I asked Brigid now.  
  
It had been months since the sorry saga had begun, and Brigid and I had dissected every nuance of it at length with one another over drinks. Yet in all that time we hadn’t dared to ask one another the key issue – whether _we_ actually wanted to do this. It was as though we, as non-Weasleys, didn’t have the right to have our own opinion on the matter.  
  
“It doesn’t sit comfortably with me,” she confessed uneasily. “But to me, not going isn’t an option. I’ve seen how much work Lily’s put into the Foundation, and I’ve helped out with some of it. I can’t _not_ go to one of the biggest funding events she’s holding for it. And I know Freddie wants to go, too. He’d agree to stay at home at the drop of a hat if I said I was remotely uncomfortable with it, of course, but I want to do this for him anyway.”  
  
Freddie treated Brigid like an absolute queen, and would buy the world for her in an instant if she so much as suggested it to him. It was partly down to his easy-going, generous nature and his want to please people, but James and I suspected it was also partly his attempt to make up for messing her about before. Brigid had also admitted to suspecting this, and I knew she sometimes exploited knowing she could always get her own way. If she told Freddie she didn’t want to go to the dinner, he would stay at home with her in solidarity.  
  
I didn’t have that luxury. In some instances, James would move mountains for me. But where his sister was involved, it wasn’t so simple. And if I told him I didn’t want to go to the dinner, he might accept that without any grumbling, but certainly wouldn’t stay at home himself.  
  
Not that I’d expect him to. But I was still too scared of upsetting him to admit my reservations about going to Malfoy Manor. And that was partly why I’d been too nervous to mention it to Brigid before now. She had become one of my closest friends in the past two years, but she was also James’ best friend.  
  
“I don’t want to go,” I confessed now. “These people ... they persecuted Muggles, they thought of them as scum. And they may say they’ve changed, but ... I mean, you can’t totally change, can you? Surely somewhere, in the back of Lucius Malfoy’s mind, is the thought that Muggles are inferior to people with magic? And...” I swallowed.  
  
I’d never met Lucius Malfoy before. I had no reason to; he generally kept himself to himself these days. That was why his support, both financial and social, of Lily’s Squib Foundation was such a surprise. I’d met Draco before – I’d first come face to face with him at the Quidditch World Cup final a year and a half ago, and he’d been pleasant enough. He’d even come for dinner here a few times, with his wife. If he was willing to come to an establishment run by a Muggle, I reasoned, he obviously couldn’t be _that_ bad.  
  
But Lucius was another matter entirely. He was the ominous head of the family, the man who had served Voldemort twice, had been sent to Azkaban, had been more than willing to turn Harry, Ron and Hermione over to Voldemort, and was the reason Ginny had been possessed by him. I thought it said a lot about Ginny that in all her reasons for disagreeing with this arrangement, her own suffering at the hands of Lucius Malfoy wasn’t even mentioned.  
  
And then there was his wife Narcissa. I knew even less about her. I’d met her sister Andromeda several times, and she was lovely, if a bit haughty. But I’d heard that the three Black sisters had always been both very alike and yet very different, and I had no idea what to expect from Narcissa. I knew she’d lied to Voldemort, but that didn’t make her a good person.  
  
And that didn’t mean she or her husband would like me, or my presence in their house.  
  
“You have nothing to worry about, honey.” Brigid reached forwards and took my hands in hers, squeezing them comfortingly. “If they think they’re better than you because they have magic, then they’re bigoted fools and their opinions aren’t worth worrying about. Besides, if they _do_ think that, then their views are far from the norm these days. All the people who’ll be there are people who support Squib rights; the Malfoys will be in the minority in terms of their history.” She paused. “Plus, you know how protective James is. He won’t let anyone near you unless he thinks they’re worthy of being in your presence.”  
  
I smiled, only slightly reassured.  
  
“How about a shot of Firewhisky to get us through the afternoon?” I suggested. “It’s past midday, it’s more than acceptable behaviour.”  
  
It was Brigid’s turn to smile, only faintly.  
  
“I’m designated Apparator, I’d better not,” she said.  
  
I pulled a face.  
  
“Does that mean you won’t be sinking the free wine with me later?” I bemoaned.  
  
“It does, unfortunately. But I’m sure Freddie won’t say no to such a venture. In fact, find a Weasley who’s _not_ Apparating and I’m sure they’ll drink with you.” She paused. “You really are a jammy little sod, you know. You _never_ have to stay sober at these sorts of functions.”  
  
“Who knew being unable to Apparate would have its perks?” I pulled the bottle of Firewhisky down from the shelf; out of the corner of my eye I noticed the four students in the corner sit upright. “I did suggest to James that we could Floo, but he doesn’t trust either of us to Floo when drunk. Which is probably for the best, if I’m honest. I don’t think he minds too much, though. You know what he thinks about drinking these days. He doesn’t trust himself.”  
  
“He’s too hard on himself.” Brigid frowned. “He’s so _disciplined_ these days…”  
  
“He’s scared of regressing,” I told her, as I lined up five glasses on the bar top. “As far as you and I are concerned – and everyone else, for that matter – it’s so unlike him to just have a complete mental breakdown, and _I_ think he’s an infinitely stronger man mentally than he was two years ago. But if I were him, I think I’d be scared of finding all those elements that caused it to happen before, lining back up in my life a second time. I’d be scared of a repeat. He’s a lot more sheltered from the tabloid attention here, he’s away from crippling pressures, but I think he’s well aware that he was a lot worse off thanks to all that alcohol he started sinking. He thinks it means he can’t handle his drink, and he’d rather be safe than sorry.” I slid four of the glasses of whisky across the counter to Brigid. “Do us a favour, pop those on table seven.”  
  
She did as asked, whipping her wand out and levitating the glasses without a second thought. I looked down at my own glass, swilling the liquid round in it. Frowning, I drank the liquid down in one and poured a second.  
  
I didn’t like talking about James’ bumpy past. Mostly because I knew it was my fault.  
  
“You’re too good to them,” Brigid said as she returned to the bar counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roscoe collect the glasses, replacing them with a handful of coins.  
  
I shrugged.  
  
“Either they get it from me, or they get the dodgy stuff that the Hog’s Head sells. The way I see it, I’m doing a good deed. Besides, you’re the one who’s sold them the Wheezes they’re going to smuggle back into school and plague the teachers with, so you’re hardly one to talk.”  
  
Brigid grinned mischievously.  
  
“Freddie and I are overdue a visit from McGonagall,” she said wryly.  
  
With another almost-subconscious wave of her wand, she summoned Roscoe’s coins over from table seven to land in front of me. I collected the change up and deposited it in the till behind me, the drawer sliding open by itself to take the money. It was one of the things that had excited me most when we’d taken over the pub.  
  
“We’d better be sitting on the same table tonight,” I said darkly, my thoughts returning once more to our trip to Malfoy Manor later. “I swear, if I’m sitting next to some pureblood wizard toff-”  
  
“There won’t be any pureblood wizard toffs there,” Brigid said reassuringly. “You think they’d turn up for a Squib event? You think Lily would invite them? She’s all for removing barriers, but I’m sure even _she_ knows there are limits.”  
  
It was calming advice. It was just a shame that Brigid was wrong.  
  
***  
  
James arrived home sometime mid-afternoon – three hours till dinner – cock-a-hoop about the performance some of his students had put in on the Quidditch pitch.  
  
“Evans is sure to get a spot in the Ravenclaw team, and I’ve got high hopes for Parker too,” he said excitedly as he busied himself washing tankards. “I can’t think of a pair of players who’d deserve it more either, they’ve both been putting in so much time to practice in their evenings…”  
  
He was only in his second year of teaching at the school, but already James had completely revamped the way Quidditch was taught at Hogwarts.  
  
“You get a few flying lessons in your First Year, and that’s it,” he’d ranted to me more times than I could count. “It’s all very well and good for the kids with magical parents who live in rural areas and are able to practice, but what about the Muggleborns? What about the city kids? And they don’t even bother to teach anything about playing Quidditch at all. If you start out at school with no knowledge of flying or Quidditch, you don’t stand a chance of making the team, not unless you’re such a flying prodigy that you manage to catch someone’s eye in your first flying lesson.”  
  
Harry Potter really did seem to be one of a kind in almost every way possible.  
  
“I think there’s far much more that Hogwarts can do for kids when it comes to Quidditch,” James had declared, countless times. And within a week of taking up his post as flying teacher, he’d declared this to the Headmistress, and within a month he’d been upgraded to Quidditch coach.  
  
A student’s Quidditch curriculum began with a month of flying lessons, compulsory to all – the magical world considered the ability to fly as being of paramount importance. If, once a young witch or wizard had mastered flying to an acceptance standard, they wanted to drop the sessions, they could. For those who chose to continue, the sessions developed into Quidditch lessons. James started by teaching basic training for all four positions, and as his students progressed they usually chose to specialise. As they improved they learned more nuanced techniques and tricks, and the sessions became more and more personalised. Those who sought professional contracts after Hogwarts could seek James out for advice and assistance. He was often at Hogwarts late into the evenings during the week, running voluntary training sessions with individuals who’d requested some of his time.  
  
Two more things that had crossed James’ mind while considering a new Quidditch curriculum were that match practice was hard to come by for those who weren’t in the House teams, and that there were a number of people who were perfectly capable of playing Quidditch and would thoroughly enjoy playing regularly, but were daunted by the competitiveness and pressure of the Quidditch Cup. So he’d set up a mini league, called the Unicorn League, made up of six teams. Students with ambitions of making their House team could use the League to demonstrate their talents, while those who didn’t want to play House Quidditch used it as a way of playing in a lower-intensity environment. In fact, these were often the more enjoyable games to watch owing to their more relaxed atmosphere.  
  
The best thing about the Unicorn League, especially in James’ eyes, was that the teams weren’t at all House affiliated. He liked the houses, and was a proud Gryffindor, but he also had strong views about ‘House barriers’.  
  
He had strong views on a lot of things.  
  
Gina Parker and Dean Evans were two of the players who’d taken up most of James’ time this year. Parker was a budding Keeper, while Evans was a Chaser cut from a similar mould to James himself. He was determined to get them both into their House teams, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively.  
  
“The Hufflepuff team were there in full,” James continued now, “and the rumour is that Pedlar’s going to have to step down from the team because of Gobstones Club commitments, so if they don’t pick Parker it’ll be a travesty. Honestly, _Gobstones_ , what on earth is Pedlar thinking?”  
  
I tried to keep a straight face.  
  
“Just because Quidditch is your first, last and every thought of the day, doesn’t mean that’s the case for everyone,” I reminded him.  
  
“That’s not true,” he protested, reaching out with a soapy hand and pulling me towards him. “You’re my third thought of the day, sometimes even my second if I’m not hungry, and I consider our profit margins as well from time to time.” He kissed my forehead. “I’d understand if it was Duelling Club, but _gobstones_?”  
  
I shook my head, smiling all the same, and turned back to napkins on the counter in front of me, which I was folding into swan shapes to put on the tables ready for tonight’s dinner guests. My bartender Lauren could make the most wonderful shapes out of napkins with her wand. I’d proceeded to learn how to make every single shape with my hands.  
  
“You ready for later?” James asked breezily.  
  
My swan’s neck broke.  
  
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, trying to hide my shaking hands that, for once, weren’t caused by damn Parky.  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked sharply.  
  
I wasn’t about to become his enemy. I wasn’t _that_ stupid.  
  
“You know me; these fancy events aren’t my thing.” I shrugged. “Especially when wizards and witches like looking at me as though I’m a circus act. Honestly, by now you’d think they’d be used to the occasional Muggle in their midst.”  
  
James scowled. Of all the bees in his bonnet, the wizarding world’s interest in me – mostly harmless, always irritating – was the biggest.  
  
“If anyone so much as looks at you-” he began.  
  
I suppressed a groan.  
  
“Don’t be daft, you can’t go hexing everyone who dares to look in my direction,” I pointed out. “And if I see you so much as raise your wand this evening, you’ll be sleeping on the sofa tonight,” I added teasingly.  
  
He whipped the back of my legs playfully with the tea towel.  
  
“Is a man not allowed to protect his girlfriend?” he lamented.  
  
“I’m sure I can look after myself, darling.” I pulled him close and kissed his cheek. “Where’s Lauren gone? I need to start getting ready…”  
  
“It’s alright, I’ll keep house,” James reassured me.  
  
I hesitated for a second – I didn’t like leaving James alone to tend the bar – but then reasoned that he couldn’t do anything worse than to serve alcohol to Hogwarts students, and as I’d already done that once today I’d hardly set a high standard for him to follow.  
  
“Don’t break any glass,” I warned him, a futile warning given he was the one who could do magic, and headed upstairs.  
  
Twenty minutes later I was enjoying a long soak in the bath, which was going some way to soothing the muscle stiffness I felt on a pretty much regular basis these days. I had the Wizarding Wireless Network on in an attempt to drown out the squeaking pink pygmy puff on the floor, determined she was hungry despite having just devoured half James’ uneaten breakfast.  
  
“Shut up, Cecilia,” I said lazily, splashing water at her. She squealed and shook herself dry in a most indignant manner.  
  
(James had bemoaned getting a pink pygmy puff to replace the deceased, very purple Cordelia.  
  
“Pink’s a _girl’s_ colour,” he’d declared.  
  
“Yes, because a pygmy puff is such a _manly_ pet,” I’d observed dryly.  
  
“Mum wouldn’t _let_ me have any other pet,” he’d muttered sulkily, in a manner which couldn’t have been less manly. I’d won the argument, we’d gotten a pink pygmy puff, and to this day I regretted having picked out what must have been the hungriest, noisiest creature in existence.)  
  
There was a knock on the door, and James’ voice floated through it.  
  
“Can I come in?”  
  
“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” I replied idly.  
  
“Still polite to ask though, isn’t it?” he said as he slipped into the room. Cecilia squeaked excitedly at the appearance of someone else she could beg for food.  
  
“She doesn’t need anything, she’s just eaten half a pig,” I warned him.  
  
“Where _do_ you put it, eh, Cece?” he asked her, crouching down to pick her up. “Come here, you can help me shave.”  
  
“I like the stubble,” I stated as he put Cecilia down next to the sink.  
  
“You complain that it scratches!”  
  
“I’m a woman, let me be a hypocrite in peace.”  
  
James snickered, drawing his wand from his pocket.  
  
“I wish I could shave by magic,” I continued, raising my newly-smooth legs out of the bath and into the air. “It would make life a lot easier.”  
  
“I could do it if you want,” James offered, “but I wouldn’t be prepared to hold myself responsible for any damage caused.”  
  
I snickered.  
  
“Plus I think that would be a really weird couple thing to do,” I mused. “I could see Hugo and Alice doing it, mind you…”  
  
James sidestepped across to me with a half-shaved face and bent over to kiss me, running his free hand up my leg as he did so.  
  
“You’re utterly ridiculous,” he said affectionately.  
  
“So are you, with facial hair like that,” I teased, tapping him on the nose.  
  
“Don’t lie, you know this look makes you weak at the knees,” he smirked.  
  
***  
  
Two hours later, that was the exact effect James was having on me as he stood in the living room in his finest dress robes, waiting for me. I was hovering in the doorway, taking advantage of the fact he hadn’t noticed me yet and drinking in every single perfect inch of him –those beautiful hazel eyes, the impeccably-chiselled cheekbones, those incredible arms…  
  
He was, of course, far more than just a pretty face, but every now and again I allowed myself to indulge in his looks all the same.  
  
Having had my fill for the time being, I strolled forwards into the room. My movement caught his eye and he looked round at me, a smile lighting up his face.  
  
“What do you think?” I said, holding out my arms and spinning round, so as to best model the new, midnight blue dress robes I’d bought from Madam Malkin’s in Diagon Alley especially for the occasion.  
  
“Witch’s robes suit you marvellously,” he said with a grin.  
  
“They feel so weird!” I said, looking down at myself.  
  
“It’s just different, that’s all,” James said. “You wait, soon enough you’ll be wearing robes on a daily basis like Nana Molly…”  
  
I laughed loudly.  
  
A few minutes later, after I’d checked with Lauren, Kreacher and the chefs that they had everything covered for the evening, I wasn’t feeling quite so cheery. I wasn’t sure if I’d subconsciously been hoping that an issue would arise, that I would have to stay behind … but all was fine downstairs, I had nothing to keep me from this dinner, and now it was time to leave.  
  
I took a deep breath and stepped towards James, allowing him to wrap his arms round me tightly. I closed my eyes tightly shut, bracing myself for all that was to come, and with a twist and a _pop_ we Disapparated.


	3. tres

One of my old school friends, Yvette, came from wealthy stock. Her parents owned a large country house and estate in Buckinghamshire and a property in the French Riviera, and regularly holidayed on yachts in all sorts of glamorous places to boot. Yvette herself was a lovely girl, albeit prone to saying “yah” rather too much and dropping her socialite acquaintances into conversation, but her family’s house was something special, and she knew it.  
  
But even they didn’t have albino peacocks roaming their grounds.  
  
“How pretentious,” I muttered, gripping James’ hand rather tightly as we walked up the path to the front door of the huge manor house. I wasn’t a fan of peacocks, white or otherwise.  
  
“I can’t imagine what you’d get out of keeping them,” he agreed, “except for looking like you’re high and mighty.”  
  
“Like you’re a dick,” I corrected him.  
  
“Don’t go telling Lucius that to his face,” James advised. “Dick or not, we should probably be nice to him under his own roof.”  
  
“Don’t you worry, I have no ambitions of upsetting Mr Malfoy,” I said dryly. “I’m sure he’ll be irritated enough at my presence, without me daring to open my mouth in front of him.”  
  
“Oh, shush,” James sighed, “he’ll be fine. He’s hardly going to misbehave with the eyes of the wizarding world on him, is he?”  
  
The trouble with James, I reflected, choosing not to answer him, was that he didn’t always see things from other people’s perspectives. He didn’t have a problem with Scorpius Malfoy, therefore he didn’t see why Albus, who’d been bullied by him for years, did. Likewise, he wasn’t a member of the part of society who had been persecuted by Scorpius’ grandfather, and so he didn’t understand the crippling fear I was feeling as we approached the house of a man who had murdered people just because they didn’t have magic. People like _me_. Lucius Malfoy might have apologised and redeemed himself, but that didn’t mean he’d approve of me. I certainly wasn’t expecting anything more than a fake show of tolerance.  
  
We reached the front door, and James raised a hand to the large, ridiculously ornate knocker. We were greeted by a house elf, who bowed low as he invited us over the threshold. I sensed James bristle slightly; it was evident that the Malfoy house elf was not treated with nearly as much care and respect as we gave Kreacher.  
  
The elf took our cloaks – mine had been purchased along with my dress robes – and scurried away with them, gesturing that we take the doors to the right.  
  
Said doorway led into a ridiculously large ballroom, with numerous tables set out across its floor. As we stepped through the doorway, we were announced in such a fashion that it took all my self-control to suppress an eye-roll.  
  
“Mr James Potter and Miss Carlotta Fortescue.”  
  
I gritted my teeth at the mangling of my name.  
  
“You should double-barrel it,” James said cheerfully, steering me towards Freddie and Brigid and blissfully ignoring the heads that had turned to look at him when his name was announced. “Then they can’t drop the second half.”  
  
“Oh, shut up,” I said, elbowing him in the side. “If I did that, I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on next time I want to call the Malfoys pretentious, and where would I be without that source of joy in my life?”  
  
“You, my dear, are becoming far too cynical in your old age.”  
  
“Yeah, that tends to happen when life blesses you with the disease belonging to a person fifty years older than you.”  
  
James cast a worried glance in my direction – I didn’t mention Parky much, even to him – but he was prevented from saying anything as Brigid swooped down on us.  
  
“Look at you in your dress robes!” she said gleefully, taking my hands in hers and holding my arms out. “Doesn’t she look amazing, Jim?”  
  
“She certainly does,” James began, before he was distracted by Freddie.  
  
“I feel like a bloody idiot,” I muttered to Brigid. “Like I’m trying to say ‘look at me, aren’t I integrated into wizarding society with my robes and my cloak-’”  
  
“Don’t be daft,” she said. “You look like you’re respecting wizarding culture and tradition – let’s face it, in this environment you’d stand out like a sore thumb in a ball gown. And besides, what’s wrong with wanting to integrate yourself into wizarding society?”  
  
“I feel like I look far too try-hard.” I wrinkled my nose.  
  
“You run a wizarding pub, Carla! I can’t think of a better way of throwing yourself head-first into the magical world, and you think wearing dress robes makes you look try-hard? Trust me, that’s the _last_ thing people will be thinking.”  
  
My response was interrupted as Freddie flung an arm around my shoulders.  
  
“Carlabear, long time no see!”  
  
“I saw you last night, Freddie,” I reminded him.  
  
“Yeah, and that was a long time ago! Robes look good, you’re lucky Nana Molly isn’t here or she’d be gushing all over you. Firewhisky?”  
  
From nowhere, he procured a couple of glasses of the stuff, and handed one to me.  
  
“I don’t know which of you is the worse influence on the other,” Brigid grumbled.  
  
James – who’d been momentarily distracted by Brigid’s brother – reappeared at my shoulder and groaned as he saw the glass in my hand.  
  
“You two are going to get utterly plastered on the free stuff, aren’t you?” he said in a resigned tone of voice.  
  
“Oh pipe down, both of you, you’re just upset that you can’t drink,” Freddie said brightly.  
  
“It’s fine, we can be the classy ones for the evening, eh Jim?” Brigid said with a smile.  
  
“James, classy? That’d be a first,” I pointed out, before ducking sideways with a squeal to avoid his indignant elbow.  
  
Despite the fact half the Weasley family had opted not to attend, there were still a lot of familiar, friendly faces in the room. Brigid’s brother Ryan and his fiancée Della popped over to say hello, fresh from the Falmouth Falcons’ tour of South America and with the tans to prove it. Their teammates, Cato and Cleo Bagman, were also mingling. Hugo and his girlfriend Alice were standing over by the refreshments table, feeding each other canapés.  
  
“Please let me throw one at them,” I pleaded to James.  
  
“No chance,” he said flatly. “I already have one canapé-throwing girlfriend to my name, I don’t need another.”  
  
I screwed up my nose in disgruntlement.  
  
“He _definitely_ shaved her legs for her,” I commented, then went to take a drink of my firewhisky only to find my glass was empty. “Oh, I need a refill…”  
  
The drinks table – where else? – was where we found Louis, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to see off the large vat of mead.  
  
“Is it Heidelberg?” I asked worriedly, peering into the vat.  
  
“We’ll find out tomorrow, I guess,” he said, filling his tankard from the tap.  
  
“You’d better not be hanging at Sunday lunch,” I said threateningly. “I’m not having Nana Molly cause a scene in my pub.”  
  
“Don’t you worry, Carla, I know how to handle her,” he said smoothly. “You look beautiful tonight, dress robes suit you.”  
  
And before I could reply, he was off into the crowd.  
  
“I don’t know how he does it,” James muttered, shaking his head in exasperation at his cousin. “Oh, look, it’s Uncle George and Aunt Angie…”  
  
He raised a hand to get their attention. Angelina clocked him and steered her husband over to join us.  
  
“Hi James, Carla – oh Merlin, this isn’t Heidelberg, is it?” George added, distracted by the alcohol.  
  
“Yeah, Lou’s already knocking it back,” James said.  
  
“That boy,” George sighed, shaking his head.  
  
But he looked different, and it took me a moment to realise what it was. In all the time I’d known him, George had never looked anything other than mischievous, fun-loving, the life and soul of the party. Tonight, however, he looked _serious_. It was an expression I was far more used to seeing on Percy’s face, and it didn’t seem to suit the face of a joke-shop owner. Angelina was wearing a similar look, as she glanced round the enormous ballroom.  
  
“Oh dear,” she said suddenly. “George, look – it’s Cormac McLaggen.”  
  
In an instant, George looked himself again, as a wicked grin grew across his face. James also looked round at Angelina’s words; McLaggen’s son Jeremiah had been his biggest nemesis in his Quidditch-playing days.  
  
“I’d behave tonight, if I were you,” I advised them both.  
  
“Oh, like I give a hoot about what Lucius Malfoy has to say to me about pranking people in his house-” George began.  
  
“I wasn’t talking about Malfoy,” I said. “I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to face Lily’s wrath at upstaging her event.”  
  
George pulled a face.  
  
“She _does_ have Ginny’s temper,” he admitted. “And she may not be able to cast a Bat Bogey Hex, but…” He sighed. “Well, I guess we’re on our best behaviour tonight, Ang. Come on, we’d better go talk to our dear son, or he’ll think we’re neglecting him…”  
  
They headed off, only to be replaced moments later by their daughter.  
  
“Roxie!” James said enthusiastically, giving her a huge bear hug. “Well done, that was an awesome performance against Buenos Aires…”  
  
“Thanks!” she said, beaming. “I’m still _exhausted_ though, I’ve barely had any time to rest – Carla, you’ve got dress robes! Oh wow, don’t they look incredible! I wanted to get a new set to wear tonight, but we only got back this morning and I crashed out – I only woke up an hour ago, it’s a wonder I even made it here in the end.”  
  
“At least you can rest tomorrow, though,” James pointed out.  
  
Roxanne snorted.  
  
“Fat chance of that,” she said. “Got a call from England yesterday, they want us all to show up tomorrow afternoon for some sort of team bonding nonsense. I haven’t unpacked from Argentina yet, and somehow I’ve got to find the time to repack and get myself to Puddlemere tomorrow.”  
  
“Does that mean you won’t be over for lunch?” I asked.  
  
“Don’t be daft, I wouldn’t miss _that_ for the world,” Roxanne said. “I’ll be there – what time, twelve?”  
  
“You’re welcome whenever,” I said, “but we’ll be sitting down for food at one. You’ll probably want to come by a bit earlier to let Nana Molly gush over you.”  
  
Roxanne grimaced.  
  
“To deny her would just be cruel, wouldn’t it?” she sighed. Then her eyes shifted to a spot just over James’ shoulder. “Oh look, it’s the future lady of the manor.”  
  
I turned to see Rose approaching us, Scorpius Malfoy in her wake. I gave Scorpius a friendly smile, which he returned with slightly less enthusiasm.  
  
I felt an odd affinity with Scorpius. Most of James’ cousins’ respective partners – Teddy, Ethan, Brigid, and Alice Longbottom – had been in Gryffindor with the Weasleys, and in most cases had been classmates with their significant other. Scorpius had been in Slytherin, the other side of Hogwarts to Gryffindor Tower, while as a Muggle I’d never so much as seen either common room.  
  
The Weasley clan never made me feel like an outsider – indeed, Ginny was as much a mother figure as my own Mamá, and Nana Molly and Grandpa Arthur treated me as though I were one of their own, many, grandchildren. But nevertheless there were times when conversation took a turn which I couldn’t take, and more often than not I found myself joined by Scorpius on the outskirts of such chatter.  
  
James, being James, always beamed happily at me whenever he saw me extend a friendly gesture in Scorpius’ direction. Admittedly, I had no reason to be hostile to him – while I understood Albus and Hugo’s reservations, I was also well aware that those were based on the actions of an eleven-year-old, and the Scorpius I saw was a well-mannered, albeit shy, twenty-two-year-old. All the same, I wondered what James would say if he knew just why I was so willing to be nice to Rose’s maligned boyfriend.  
  
“Look at all the people here!” Rose said excitedly as she reached us. “Isn’t it wonderful? How are you, Rox, you look dead on your feet-”  
  
I turned to Scorpius, who was standing back from the conversation.  
  
“It was very nice of your grandfather to host this dinner,” I said, in the most gracious tone I could muster.  
  
He pulled a face.  
  
“I wish it wasn’t-” he began, then cut himself off. “I mean, I just … well, I haven’t been here in a while.”  
  
I smiled sympathetically.  
  
“I haven’t seen your grandparents yet…”  
  
“Well, no, I think they’re trying to stay out of the mix. My grandfather’s not all that fond on mingling these days. Apparently he was good at it once, but it seems Azkaban can change a man.”  
  
It was the first time Scorpius had ever directly referenced his grandfather’s past as a Death Eater, and it had me wondering if the resentment at Lily for choosing Malfoy Manor to host her dinner wasn’t contained solely within the Weasley clan.  
  
Suddenly Scorpius frowned, looking across the room.  
  
“Isn’t that Charlie Weasley? I didn’t think he was in the country…”  
  
I looked sharply round at his words, standing on tiptoe to see over James’ shoulder – he was still busily engrossed in Quidditch conversation with Rose and Roxanne.  
  
“Charlie!” I exclaimed, a smile spreading across my face, and without further hesitation I squeezed past Scorpius and through the throng of people, towards the stocky, weather-beaten redhead making his way across the ballroom.  
  
“Carlotta!” he said, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “How are you? I like the dress robes, they suit you.”  
  
“What are you doing here? I had no clue you were coming-”  
  
“I couldn’t miss Lily’s big night, could I? How’s the pub going, corrupting all the Hogwarts students?”  
  
The last time I’d seen Charlie had been at my own big night, the party we’d held at the Three Broomsticks on the day James and I had taken over. I liked Charlie a lot; I found his work with dragons absolutely fascinating, and his outlook on life was a refreshing change from the ‘happy families’ vibe the rest of the Weasleys gave off. On a night like this, saturated by the very pomp and ceremony I liked to avoid, Charlie was a welcome addition to the guest list.  
  
“The pub’s going great, I couldn’t be happier,” I beamed. “Come for lunch tomorrow! All the family will be there…”  
  
“Be rude not to, wouldn’t it?” he said with a grin of his own. “I’m sure my mother’s dying to see me again and comment on all my dreadful burns.”  
  
Our conversation was cut short as Charlie was accosted by George and Freddie. I took a hasty step back and glanced round the room once more. Percy had arrived and was deep in conversation with the Squib Foundation’s co-founder Thaddeus Ketteridge; I spied Audrey in a corner talking to Brigid. Victoire and Teddy were impossible to miss, with her silvery-blonde hair and his red and gold streaks – I suspected he’d opted for Gryffindor colours in a deliberate effort to annoy the Malfoys. I saw the shiny head of the Minister for Magic, and there were countless other people here whose faces weren’t at all familiar; I assumed they were important names within the Ministry, or otherwise people with fat wallets whose money would hopefully be in the Squib Foundation’s coffers by the end of the night.  
  
But my view of the room was suddenly blocked by a mass of red hair, as Lily Potter flung her arms round my neck with an excited squeal.  
  
“You’re here, you’re here!”  
  
“Of course I’m here, do you think I’d miss it?” I said, determined to hide from her my reservations about the evening. “Hi, Kit,” I added over Lily’s shoulder.  
  
Lily’s friend Kit grinned slightly, his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides; I got the impression he’d have his hands stuffed in pockets if he wasn’t wearing dress robes, borrowed from Albus for the occasion. Unlike their friend Maddie – who was ridiculously outgoing – Kit was much quieter and reserved, and slightly less involved with the wizarding world, and this sort of environment wasn’t his forte.  
  
“ _Everyone’s_ here, isn’t it amazing!” Lily said gleefully, releasing me from her clutches; I pulled my dress robes straight. “The Fawcetts have made it, I was so hoping they’d come – and the Cresswells too! And Mr Krum’s come from Bulgaria, Aunt Hermione said he would, and the Parkinsons are here, they’d better do some bidding later because they’re horrendous people, I only invited them for their money – oh look, Uncle Charlie’s here!”  
  
And as quick as she had appeared, she had gone again.  
  
“She’s been like this all evening,” Kit said, grinning wryly. “And I’ve got to sit next to her all night. This is the last time I volunteer to be her date for – well, _anything_.”  
  
“Bet you’re jealous of Al now, aren’t you?”  
  
“It’s not _that_ bad,” he said, looking horrified. “Mads was still in her towel when Lil and I left.”  
  
“Oh, let the girl off, it’s only natural she wants to look her best tonight.”  
  
“Well if she takes too long, she won’t get here,” he pointed out. “Anyway, it looks like we should be heading to our seats…”  
  
Kit was right; the small groups of people had begun to disperse and head to their respective tables. I took a quick detour to the drinks table to top up my firewhisky, then headed across the room to take my seat next to James at a table which to my relief included Brigid and Freddie, and Albus and Maddie, who had just arrived.  
  
“I thought you guys would never make it,” I smirked, taking my seat next to Al.  
  
“I had everything under control,” Maddie said smoothly. She was wearing her own dress robes, which suited her ridiculously well.  
  
“All lies.” Albus reached forwards for one of the bottles of wine in the middle of the table. “You lack all notion of timekeeping.”  
  
“We got here, didn’t we?” Maddie said indignantly. “ _And_ we missed all the pompous chit-chat that goes on before everyone sits down for dinner. Personally, Al, I think you should be thanking me for sparing you from all that nonsense.”  
  
As if to prove the point, an older couple turned up at our table to take their seats, and immediately struck up a conversation with Albus. It seemed the gentleman worked at the Ministry and so knew Al, who had nearly qualified as an Auror. Maddie grimaced at the immensely dry conversation topic, reaching for the wine. Luckily for both me and her, the final people to join us were die-hard Quidditch fans who quickly fell into conversation with James about his professional career; it was an undoubtedly more interesting subject matter.  
  
As we were chatting, the evening’s food began to materialise in front of us. I couldn’t help but wonder whether the chefs were human or house elf, and could tell James was thinking the same. By the time the sumptuous main course had arrived, Maddie had swapped seats with Albus so he was no longer leaning over her to talk to the boring Ministry couple.  
  
“Save me,” she said dramatically, pulling a face.  
  
“I reckon Al’s the one who needs saving,” I pointed out.  
  
“Oh, don’t go feeling sorry for him, he _loves_ it,” she said. “More wine?”  
  
“Be rude to say no,” I reasoned, holding out my empty glass. Maddie did the honours. “How’s the shoulder?”  
  
She grimaced, rotating the aforementioned body part slightly.  
  
“Nearly fixed,” she said. “I’ve been back on fitness training for a few weeks now, and hopefully I’ll have the racquet back in my hand by the end of February. Nightmare timing though, it’s wiped out almost all the hard work I put in last year.”  
  
Maddie played tennis professionally, and was making her way up the rankings fairly well; or at least she had been before she’d picked up a shoulder injury a few months back that had put her out of action.  
  
“Bet you’re wishing St Mungo’s could have had a go at it,” I said dryly.  
  
Maddie groaned.  
  
“It’s _ridiculous_ ,” she lamented. “I bumped into Allegra Fawcett in Wheezes the other day, and she told me _she_ could have fixed it in a jiffy. If _only_ my coach hadn’t been there when I did it, I’d have gone straight to Audrey and nobody would have known it had even happened. And instead, I’ve lost vital months of competing. I don’t know how you can be so complacent, day in, day out, about having to use our treatments and remedies when the wizarding world can do things so much more efficiently.”  
  
It was my turn to grimace. I’d had the conversation with Audrey countless times; about how her spells and potions would be far more effective on my mobility issues than the pills I was prescribed by my doctor, about how if only she would give me a Sleeping Draught I wouldn’t spend hours every night staring at the ceiling while James slept peacefully beside me, about how I wouldn’t need to spend the odd bad day bedbound if only she’d let me take restorative draughts. But her answer was the same every time – a Muggle disease should be treated by Muggle medicine.  
  
There was a part of me – a very small part, as I didn’t like to entertain the notion – that wondered what would happen if I chose to leave the Muggle world completely. Surely Audrey couldn’t object to treating me _then_?  
  
But as things stood, she could. And so I had to make do with my numerous pots and blisters of pills in the bathroom, which often seemed like they did nothing at all. And in reality, there wasn’t really anything they did or could do – there was still no cure for Parkinson’s, nothing the Muggle health service could do for me except give me medication which was supposed to suppress the symptoms as best it could. At least the wizarding remedies would do that more effectively.  
  
But I didn’t want to dwell on such thoughts; certainly not tonight of all nights, when I had a readymade distraction in the form of the fundraiser.  
  
“Looking forward to tomorrow?” I asked Maddie, as I reached forwards for my wine glass.  
  
She glanced across the room. I did the same, my eyes falling on the table where Cleo and Cato Bagman were sitting with a couple of Ireland’s Quidditch players.  
  
“I don’t _get_ tomorrow now, do I?” she grumbled, going for her own glass, and the bottle to boot. It was one of those evenings. “If it’s not domestic training, it’s international training.”  
  
“Yeah, I can see why that would be a bit rough,” I admitted. “Well, there’s still tonight-”  
  
“Ha, yeah, in my poxy little flat with two flatmates and thin walls. Real romantic.”  
  
I frowned.  
  
“His place-”  
  
“He’s moving, he doesn’t _have_ a place. He’s crashing on Cleo’s floor at the moment; again, I’m not convinced that’s the most romantic night ever.”  
  
“I see your problem.” I swirled the wine around in my glass. “You know, I run this business, it’s really cool, it rents rooms out to people. And we happen to have a couple of free rooms tonight. The honeymoon suite’s available, actually. Top floor, full room service, complete discretion. Just say the word and it’s yours.”  
  
I knocked my wine back, as Maddie spluttered in disbelief next to me.  
  
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I smiled, picking up the wine bottle from in front of her and draining it into my glass.  
  
All too soon, the dessert course was finished and the tables cleared away. I knew what was to come next; now was the time when all the rich high-and-mighties in the room could compete to see who had the biggest purses. At least the money was going to the right place, I had to concede, but all the same I anticipated tedium.  
  
At the behest of Lily, James had put himself up as one of the lots. Not in a literal sense, thankfully, but in the form of coaching sessions. Lily hadn’t told him of her hope that his name would rake in the big bucks – he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with that thought, whereas Lily had long learned not to let such things bother her.  
  
He was third lot up, by which time the Parkinsons had already splashed out on a holiday to the Bahamas and Notts had bought all-access tickets for the Falcons vs Bats match in April. In no time at all, the betting for him was up to hundreds of Galleons, as the Belby family battled with the Cauldwells to win his services.  
  
“This is sickening,” I muttered to Maddie, who nodded in agreement. “Back in a mo … need some fresh air.”  
  
I slowly got to my feet and crept out of the room, hoping that James, standing at the front of the room looking incredibly sheepish as the price for his coaching sessions grew higher and higher, wouldn’t notice me leaving. Once out of the ballroom I leaned up against the wall outside and let out a sigh; it was as though I could feel the stuffy atmosphere dissipate as I left the room.  
  
It was, I had to admit to myself, a rather impressive house which the Malfoys lived in – although I supposed it wasn’t a house so much as a mansion. It was definitely more ostentatious than my friend Yvette’s house, helped in part by the huge chandelier which hung from the ceiling. I was pretty certain magic had a part to play in its existence and positioning, as I had never seen one so large and delicate-looking before.  
  
There was another doorway opposite the one I’d just left. I wasn’t sure what it was that took hold of me – morbid curiosity was probably the best explanation – but before I knew it I’d crossed the hallway and opened one of the doors to peer into the room that lay behind.  
  
The first thing that caught my eye was the chandelier, even larger than the one behind me. There were several fancy chairs and little tables which were probably on their own more expensive than everything I owned, but the main feature was the enormous marble fireplace set against the right hand wall.  
  
So this was the room in which Hermione had been tortured all those years ago.  
  
The reality of the situation hit me harder than it had before, in all those months of talk, and I gripped the door handle tightly as the urge to turn and run straight out of this vile place washed over me. James or no James, I really did not want to be here.  
  
“Can we help you?”  
  
I jumped as the voice cut through the air, and I closed the drawing room door quickly and spun round to see who had spoken.  
  
I didn’t recognise either of the two men who stood before me, one tall and thin, the other short and stout, both wearing black robes and unpleasant looks.  
  
“I was just looking for the nearest toilet, I’m afraid I must have gotten the wrong door,” I said smoothly, hoping that would deter them both. “Please do excuse me-”  
  
I made as if to move past them, but the taller of the two men reached out and took a hold of my arm, pinning me where I was.  
  
“You’re the Muggle,” he said.  
  
“I can assure you, there are certainly more of us,” I said delicately, attempting to remove my arm from his grasp, “but yes, I am one of them Muggles.”  
  
“And I suppose being Potter’s bird gives you some sense of grandeur,” he said, a hint of venom to his voice. “ _Landlady_ of a wizarding pub, how _nice_ that must be for you-”  
  
“Nott! Goyle! What’s going on here?”  
  
A third figure had emerged from the ballroom; my heart went cold when I saw who had come to ‘save’ me.  
  
“Miss Fortescue,” Lucius Malfoy said in an oily voice as he spotted me, “are these men bothering you?”  
  
“Oh, not at all, Mr Malfoy,” I said, taking advantage of the distraction to wrench my arm free of my captor’s grasp. “These gentlemen were just enquiring about my business.”  
  
“I’m sure.” Malfoy narrowed his eyes at the men. “On you go,” he said, and they both nodded and darted away.  
  
I breathed a small sigh of relief, and made as if to head back into the ballroom, but Malfoy took the smallest of sidesteps and I found myself face to face with him.  
  
“You’ll have to forgive them,” he said, in the same oily tone. “You see, we’re not quite used to having someone like yourself quite so … tied up in our affairs. I’m afraid it is quite an ask for some people to adjust to such an occurrence; after all, as I’m sure you know, wizard kind has spent many centuries in hiding from the Muggle world.”  
  
“Yes, I’m sure it’s been _very_ hard for you, being forced to wear a mask to hide your face as you tortured and killed anyone with Muggle blood,” I retorted before I could stop myself.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes flashed, and his arm flinched ever so slightly.  
  
“I would advise you hold your tongue about things you don’t know about, Miss Fortescue,” he said. “I only offer you a friendly warning; be careful how you parade yourself around in front of the more … _noble_ pureblood families. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, now, would we?”  
  
I was trembling by now, although I wasn’t sure if that was fear, rage, or my medication wearing off.  
  
“Is that a threat, Mr Malfoy?”  
  
“My dear, I only speak out of concern for your wellbeing-”  
  
“Carlotta!”  
  
I had never been so pleased to hear Percy Weasley’s voice. Malfoy took a couple of steps backwards from me as Percy strode into the hallway and placed a hand on my shoulder.  
  
“Is there a problem here?” he said firmly, glaring at Malfoy.  
  
“None at all, Weasley,” Malfoy replied, his lip curling slightly. “Miss Fortescue and I were just having a pleasant little conversation. But I see your absence has been noted; I shan’t keep you any further.”  
  
“Thank you for your kind words of advice,” I said, summoning the coldest tone of voice I could muster. “I’ll be sure to take heed. Oh, and it’s Fortescue _Martinez_.”  
  
I heard Percy sigh as he steered me back into the ballroom, leaving Lucius Malfoy out in the hallway.  
  
“What was he saying to you?” he asked sharply.  
  
“Oh, some nonsense about how you poor wizards have been so oppressed by my kind, nothing too serious,” I said, trying to sound as though it was indeed nothing. Percy didn’t seem to believe me, as his hand tightened slightly around my shoulder.  
  
He led me to a table in the corner, where Audrey, George, Angelina and Charlie sat with varying looks of concern on their faces.  
  
“Are you okay?” Charlie asked sharply as Percy pulled out an empty chair; I took the hint and sat down.  
  
“We saw Nott, Goyle and Malfoy follow you out,” Angelina added.  
  
“I’m fine,” I said, hiding my shaking hands under the table. “Just a few harmless words, nothing to worry about.”  
  
Audrey sniffed, and George pushed a large glass full to the brim with amber liquid across the table towards me.  
  
“Drink up,” he advised me.  
  
I didn’t need telling twice. I reached out and took the glass in both hands, trying to keep my hands steady, and took a large gulp. As I’d expected, it was Heidelberg mead, which burned the back of my throat on the way down.  
  
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Charlie murmured, as the other four all became engaged in a quiet conversation on the other side of the table.  
  
“I’m _fine_ , really, stop worrying,” I said, refusing to look at him all the same. I took another gulp of mead.  
  
It was clear, now, why George and Angelina had looked so uptight. Why Percy and Audrey had agreed to attend tonight without even the slightest comment either way. Why Charlie was even here at all when this really wasn’t his scene.  
  
None of the Weasleys trusted Lucius Malfoy, even thirty years on from the war with Voldemort. He had renounced his ways, and the Ministry had accepted his remorse publicly, but behind closed doors those who had fought against him evidently didn’t believe him to be truthful. And the Weasleys refused to trust him with their children. _That_ was why George, Percy and Charlie had come tonight; to make sure he couldn’t say or do anything to any of us.  
  
But he’d managed all the same.  
  
I drank more mead, and turned to watch the activity in the auction – it seemed James had finally been bought and bidding had now moved onto a set of Gobstones which looked to be made of solid gold. But although I was watching the action, I wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. Despite my best efforts, despite what I’d told Charlie, I couldn’t get Lucius Malfoy’s slimy voice out of my head.


	4. cuatro

There truly was, I considered painfully, no combination more lethal than insomnia and a hangover.  
  
“Make it go away…” I pleaded to James from underneath my mound of pillows.  
  
He chuckled. Not for the first time, I considered adopting his new-found abstinence.  
  
“I’ve brought you some Pepperup-”  
  
“Doesn’t work on Heidelberg,” I whined.  
  
“-and some coffee.”  
  
I sat up as sharply as I could – which wasn’t very sharp at all.  
  
“Now you’re talking.” I squinted blearily at James and took the steaming mug of coffee from him. “Don’t let me do it next time,” I pleaded.  
  
“Like you’d ever listen to me,” he said, albeit fondly.  
  
“I _will_ , I promise, I’ll – oh, _shoot_.”  
  
My hand had chosen the worst time to develop a tremor, and I’d managed to slop coffee all over the duvet.  
  
“No matter,” James said cheerfully, drawing his wand and clearing away the spilled drink with a flick. “Here, let me take-”  
  
“It’s fine,” I said roughly, setting the mug down on the bedside table and trying to swing my legs over the edge of the bed; I succeeded on the third attempt. “What a fucking useless bag of-”  
  
“Carla,” James said sharply.  
  
“Oh, bugger off with your tough love, I’m not in the mood – and I don’t need your help either,” I added, ignoring the hand he held out to me; I was determined to stand up on my own.  
  
“Heidelberg makes you grouchy,” he said conversationally, watching me struggle.  
  
“ _Parky_ makes me grouchy,” I corrected him, “get used to it, he’s not going anywhere.”  
  
“I know,” said James, in far too light-hearted a tone for my liking. “But you’re not this grouchy every morning.”  
  
“I can be if you want,” I said, trying to muster my most threatening tone of voice, and failing just as woefully as I was failing to get to my feet. “Oh, sod this, help me up.”  
  
James immediately took my hands in his and pulled me to my feet, but he didn’t stop there; he proceeded to pick me up as easily as if I were a ragdoll, and carried me into the bathroom despite my protestations.  
  
“Accepting help doesn’t make you weak,” he reminded me delicately, setting me down on the bathroom floor.  
  
“It feels like he’s winning,” I grumbled, scowling at my reflection in the mirror.  
  
“Hey, so long as you stay strong up here,” James tapped my head lightly, “he’ll never win. Remember that.” He placed a kiss on the spot he’d just tapped. “I need to feed Cecilia. If you need anything, just shout.”  
  
“I won’t,” I pointed out as he left the bathroom. But if he’d heard me, he was ignoring the remark. I sighed, and turned back to the large medicine cabinet.  
  
I hated this cabinet. It was full to bursting with all the stupid pills and medication my doctor told me I had to take, without fail, every day – sometimes twice or even three times a day. I couldn’t help but wonder, especially this morning, if there was even any _point_ to this, if the stupid stuff even _worked_. But I didn’t want things to get worse, and so I took the damned pills as ordered. And every time I did, I cursed Audrey for refusing to treat me herself. And I cursed Muggle medicine for being so useless, and I cursed myself for being a Muggle.  
  
But cursing people wasn’t going to make things better, so I knocked back all my pills and, with one last scowl in the mirror, headed back to the bedroom to get dressed.  
  
Scotland in January was _cold_. Bitterly so. At first I’d thought the snow was fantastic, but a couple of months into winter and the novelty was beginning to wear off. We always had a warm, lively, _very_ welcome fire roaring in the hearth, so the pub was never cold, but I still layered up. Jeans, thick woolly socks, big boots … and my green Weasley jumper.  
  
My twenty-second birthday the previous November had been the best birthday of my life without shadow of a doubt. James had surprised me by whisking me off early in the morning to spend the day in Prague, somewhere I’d always wanted to go. Then, on the way home, we’d “dropped into” the Burrow – only to find that the rest of James’ family had gotten there before us, and birthday dinner was in the oven. After my favourite meal of roast pork followed by chocolate tart, I opened my presents. Freddie and Brigid had presented me with some Wheezes merchandise and a voucher to spend in Gladrags Wizardwear, Harry and Ginny had bought me a mini Quidditch set, Ron and Hermione had gotten me my own set of chessmen, and Percy and Audrey had bought me some new baking things for the kitchen in our little flat above the pub.  
  
But the best birthday present had come from Nana Molly and Grandpa Arthur. Some homemade fudge, another chocolate tart to take home – and _my very own Weasley jumper_.  
  
A Weasley jumper was the ultimate sign that you belonged in the family. And it was a big family – what with birthday _and_ Christmas jumpers for six children and five in-laws, countless grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren to boot, I imagined Nana Molly spent pretty much all her free time knitting. It was probably for this reason that even Brigid – who’d been James’ best friend and Freddie’s one true love since they were eleven – hadn’t received her own Weasley jumper until after her engagement to Freddie, although by that time she’d already collected up countless of James and Freddie’s outgrown jumpers.  
  
Because of this, I hadn’t expected to be added to Nana Molly’s jumper roster. If she was waiting for a wedding, I’d figured, she’d be waiting a very long time. And yet, she’d presented me with my very own navy blue, beautifully knitted Weasley jumper last November, which I’d worn daily right up until Christmas, when I’d opened my _second_ Weasley jumper, this time in a deep green. It was this one which I pulled over my head now, revelling in that wonderful feeling of wearing something made-to-measure just for you.  
  
I still wasn’t exactly sure _why_ Nana Molly had decided to start knitting me jumpers. Perhaps she’d realised James and I weren’t the marriage type – or maybe it was the opposite, and she’d decided that us going into business together meant a wedding was imminent. Whichever reason it was, I was just touched that she thought of me as one of the family.  
  
James had the Quidditch Channel on in the kitchen; it was showing a repeat of one of the quarter-finals from the last World Cup. He was only half-watching it, as he was busy cooking. As I passed him, he handed me a bacon and egg sandwich – it was one of the few things he could cook well. He was wearing his England-red Weasley jumper with the World Cup embroidered on the front – his birthday present from Nana Molly after he’d won the trophy eighteen months ago. Cecilia was sitting on the counter devouring her own sandwich.  
  
“Many bookings today?” James asked.  
  
“Fully booked as usual,” I said around a mouthful of bacon. “You know, I really think maybe I should-”  
  
“No,” said James firmly. “Daryl and Aggie are more than capable of cooking enough for everyone, as you full well know.”  
  
“But Lauren-”  
  
“Can manage front-of-house on her own,” James finished dully. “And Kreacher will be fine serving, as you also full well know. Honestly, anyone would think you didn’t _want_ family Sunday dinner…”  
  
“Oh, shut up,” I said, as he smirked. “I just feel guilty about the others doing the work while I’m eating in a back room-”  
  
“I do pay them for the work they do, you don’t need to feel _too_ guilty,” he said, still grinning. “Do you think any of them feel bad about eating here in their time off while you’re working?”  
  
“No, but they don’t run it,” I pointed out.  
  
“If you don’t have time off once in a while, you’ll go stir crazy. Stop _worrying_ , they all know what they’re doing! Go on, run down and check they’re okay, I’ll be down to help open up once I’ve cleared this up.”  
  
He gestured lazily round the kitchen. While he could cook certain dishes, he hadn’t quite worked out how to do so without making the kitchen look like a bombsite. Small steps.  
  
Down in the pub, Lauren was wiping down the bar counter, and Kreacher was setting tables. The fire was already roaring away merrily.  
  
“Morning!” Lauren said brightly. “How was last night?”  
  
I grimaced.  
  
“As awful as I thought it would be,” I said. “Actually, it was _worse_ than that. Got cornered by Lucius bloody Malfoy, didn’t I? But in better news, James went for a thousand Galleons last night. _A thousand Galleons_! I’d pay someone that much to get him off my hands some mornings.”  
  
Lauren snickered.  
  
“I saw the note you left about the honeymoon suite,” she said. “Kreacher took them breakfast about half an hour ago.”  
  
I’d forgotten I’d let Maddie and Cato stay over for the night.  
  
“Fantastic,” I said. “Don’t let either of them pay, it’s on the house.”  
  
“Gotcha.” She saluted me, then pulled her wand from her pocket and made a sweeping motion; three dozen glasses flew across the room to their requisite tables for the breakfast service.  
  
I headed over to one of the function rooms, which we used for the weekly Weasley Sunday lunch. Given the size of the family – over thirty people if everyone turned up – the main pub would soon end up pretty full if we were to eat there. Instead, since November, when the tradition of Sunday lunch at the pub had begun, we’d used the same function room every week, which James had jokingly renamed the Ginger Suite. There was even a name plaque on the door now. One long table was still set out from last Sunday. I pondered whether I could be bothered to set the table myself, then decided I’d let James do it when he came downstairs. I’d inevitably end up correcting things afterwards, but he could still do the basics with three flicks of his wand, which saved me a lot of time and effort.  
  
I was going to do the swan-shaped napkins, though.  
  
By the time I’d done my usual check of the kitchens – pork was today’s special – James had made it downstairs, and was helping Lauren with cutlery for the tables.  
  
“Once you’re done, can you lay out thirty-four places for our lunch please?” I asked him. “Oh – morning, Mads!”  
  
Maddie had just emerged from the staircase up to the guest rooms.  
  
“Thank you so, so much for last night,” she said, positively beaming. “It really means a lot. Cato’s had to dash off already, but he says thank you as well. How much do I owe?”  
  
“Don’t be daft,” I said, “you don’t pay here.”  
  
“No, really, I want to pay – it’s a _gorgeous_ suite, and the breakfast Kreacher brought us was fantastic-”  
  
“It’s free,” I insisted. “If any couple deserves a bit of time to actually _be_ a couple, it’s you and Cato.”  
  
“Well, if you’re sure,” Maddie said tentatively. “Thank you so much, I really do appreciate it.”  
  
“No worries,” I said with a wink. “How long’s this England camp for?”  
  
“Two weeks,” she said gloomily. “By which time _I’ll_ be back in full-time training. Oh well,” she shrugged, “we’re both doing what we love, and that’s the important thing, isn’t it?”  
  
Maddie and Cato had a pretty rough time of it. They’d been together for over a year, but I knew that they barely got to spend any time together. Their differing training schedules made things difficult to begin with, and added to that, they’d made the decision to keep their relationship under wraps. Cato was a tabloid writer’s dream to gossip about, and Maddie felt it unwise to have magical press poking around her when she was trying to make her own way in a profession which was putting her in the Muggle limelight more and more every day – which, of course, meant in turn that her own personal life was often scrutinised by the gossip columns I’d grown up with, and we were all in agreement that the less the Muggle world was able to find out about Cato, the better.  
  
As such, it was only a very small, select group of people who knew that the two were anything more than mere acquaintances, and the two of them were forced to sneak around any time they wanted to see one another. I wasn’t entirely sure how they put up with it, and so I was more than happy to offer them a room at any time. The wizarding world’s journalists had learned long ago not to anger James, and they stayed well away from the pub, making it an ideal haven for people wanting to remain discreet – just so long as they weren’t spotted by any guests.  
  
“You should stay for lunch,” I said now, feeling sorry for Maddie, who was looking pretty down. “Weasley affair, Daryl’s got the world’s biggest hog on the go in the kitchens.”  
  
She smiled gratefully.  
  
“That’d be lovely, thanks,” she said. “I should probably nip home, check Lily’s alive – what time’s food?”  
  
“One, but come along whenever you like.”  
  
“Alright, well I’ll see you in a bit then! Mind if I use the Floo?”  
  
“Be my guest. Powder’s-”  
  
“In the pot on the mantelpiece,” Maddie finished for me. “Wizards, so predictable, eh?”  
  
And with that, she headed off to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, looking slightly happier.  
  
***  
  
Breakfast service finished at ten, at which time it became a mad rush to get the tables cleared and set ready for the first load of lunchtime patrons. Sunday was always a busy day, and people usually booked weeks in advance so as to bag a table. James, who had Sundays off and always helped out with pub service, was laying plates and cutlery out with Kreacher, while Lauren was arranging flowers in little vases on all the tables.  
  
I was elbow-deep in napkin-arranging. Fifty swans already sat proudly on the bar counter, waiting for James, Kreacher and Lauren to levitate them into place, and I had twenty or so to go.  
  
“You know,” Aggie said, taking a quick break from the kitchens and joining me behind the bar, “I could give you a hand with that if you want-”  
  
“I’ve got it covered,” I insisted. “I don’t need magic to do this.”  
  
“I know you don’t, chick.” Aggie smiled slightly. “Once you’re done with that, can you give me a hand with the Yorkshire puddings? I just can’t get them to go light and fluffy like you can.”  
  
“Of course I can,” I said, trying my best to hide my triumphant smile. There were some things that even _Enchantments in Baking_ couldn’t help with.  
  
It only took me another twenty minutes or so to fold the napkins, and by the time I’d shown Aggie how to get the Yorkshire puddings _just right_ , Harry and Ginny had arrived. Harry was already laughing about James’ apparent worth of a thousand Galleons.  
  
“I was worth ten thousand! How does it feel to be worth a tenth of your old man?”  
  
“Who the hell decided _you_ were worth ten thousand?” I asked incredulously.  
  
“Lord Voldemort, of course, who else?” Ginny said, before Harry could answer. “Although I’m not sure it counts if someone is promising that much money for you just so they can kill you.”  
  
“Are you kidding? I was such a threat to him that he was willing to pay that much just to get me out of his way. I’d say that says a considerable amount about my worth.”  
  
“The fact that he was never actually going to _pay_ anyone that money for you…” Ginny winked at me and James. “Anyway, let’s put your egos to one side for a moment, boys. How was the rest of the night?”  
  
“It was-” I hesitated. James didn’t know about my run-in with Lucius Malfoy, and I was quite happy for it to remain that way. “Fine. Almost _fun_ , actually.”  
  
“Uncle Charlie was there!” James said.  
  
“Was he now?” said Ginny, in a surprised tone of voice, but her facial expression told me it all – this wasn’t news to her at all. James’ aunts and uncles had _definitely_ been there last night to watch over us all.  
  
James, being James, didn’t seem to notice anything.  
  
“Louis drank a whole vat of Heidelberg mead by himself,” he continued, “but he’ll be absolutely fine today of course. Uncle George nearly had a bust-up with Cormac McLaggen – if only Uncle Perce hadn’t got in the way, George would have kicked McLaggen’s ass. And Al tried to spend a fortune on a set of solid gold gobstones, but he got outbid by Mr Fawcett. Lil seemed pretty happy with how it went in the end, didn’t she, Carla?”  
  
“I’d be happy if I could sell my brother for a thousand shiny ones,” I mused.  
  
“Don’t tempt me,” Ginny said. “I’ve got five, just imagine the money. So Lucius behaved in the end, did he?”  
  
“Oh, he was positively civilised,” James said, freeing me from having to answer the question myself. “Didn’t really get involved at all, actually. He was at the main table for dinner, of course, with Lily and Rosie and the rest of the Malfoys, but he was very well behaved.”  
  
I said nothing.  
  
The pub steadily filled as more and more Weasleys arrived. Charlie was mobbed by Nana Molly as soon as he arrived, and Victoire and Dominique’s kids were soon causing havoc by running round all the tables. At this point I decided I’d much rather have them trash the Ginger Suite than the actual pub, and steered everyone in that general direction. After the usual reassurances that yes, there was mead in the back room, and butterbeer too, and pumpkin juice for the kids, the clan obediently traipsed in.  
  
Half the family were gathered around Lily, wanting to know all the details of last night. Harry was amongst the group, unable to keep the proud grin from his face, but Ginny was standing off to one side talking to Hermione and Audrey. James, Albus and Teddy were across the other side of the room in their own little huddle, having a conversation that looked anything but innocent.  
  
Suddenly Louis appeared next to me out of nowhere, wearing a pale blue jumper and looking fresh as a daisy.  
  
“Good morning, Carla,” he said smoothly. “Thank you very much for having us.”  
  
“Oh – yes – of course-”  
  
Louis placed a hand lightly on my upper arm, kissed both my cheeks, and vanished into the hubbub, presumably in the direction of the mead.  
  
I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding, fanned my warm cheeks with my hand, and wondered – not for the first time – if I’d picked the wrong Weasley grandchild.  
  
“Here you are, dear,” said Brigid’s smooth voice from next to me, as she pushed a glass of water into my hand. “Drink up, there you go.”  
  
I mumbled my thanks, taking a clumsy gulp of water.  
  
“I thought I was used to it by now, but you know, every now and again he just _springs up_ on you…”  
  
“I know, I know,” said Brigid soothingly. “Look, James is through there, just stare at those lovely arm muscles of his for a bit, that’ll sort you out.”  
  
“He does have very yummy arms,” I agreed, as the temperature of the room climbed back down to a comfortable temperature. “And also a very nice-”  
  
“Stop there,” Brigid said, holding a hand up. “I don’t want to know.”  
  
I let out a giggle that was most unlike me. _Damn you, Louis Weasley_.  
  
Eventually everyone was here – Roxanne and Lucy the last to arrive, which caused a hubbub of its own as the people who hadn’t seen Roxanne at the dinner all congregated round her to congratulate her on the Falcons’ match against Buenos Aires and ask about the England camp. In the end Harry had to let off a couple of bangs from the end of his wand to get everyone’s attention and suggest we all sit down for lunch.  
  
“Every time,” I muttered to myself, “I say never again, and every time I wish I’d listened to myself.”  
  
Once everyone was seated – I deliberately chose a seat at the opposite end of the table to Louis – Kreacher brought out a cauldron of Aggie’s finest tomato soup, and soon the sound of the clinking of spoons against bowls joined in with the sound of chatter all along the table. Despite that we all sat down for Sunday lunch every week – those of us who were around – and most of the family tended to see each other during the week – usually here in the pub – it seemed nobody ever managed to run out of things to talk about.  
  
I was sitting opposite Teddy, who immediately began regaling me and Ginny with a tale about his daughter Dora. It seemed she had finally mastered the art of changing her whole appearance into that of someone else, and had spent a whole hour in Diagon Alley the previous week disguised as an old woman, causing Teddy and Victoire no end of stress and worry.  
  
“I’m beginning to think this Metamorphosing is more trouble than it’s worth,” Teddy finished with a wry grin.  
  
Ginny let out a laugh.  
  
“Finally, you’re getting a taste of your own medicine!” she said gleefully. “You did that to me and Harry once when you were about five. I remember, it was the first time your grandmother had trusted us with you by ourselves, and we took you to a park in London, and one minute you were there and the next you’d gone. Oh, we were beside ourselves with worry about what Andromeda would say when we told her we’d lost her grandson. _Three hours_ we were searching for you! And you’d been that sulky teenager eyeing us from the park bench the whole time! Ooh, you were in big trouble that day.”  
  
Teddy widened his eyes.  
  
“Was that the day you didn’t let me have treacle tart?” he said, with dawning comprehension. “I remember that now! Oh, man, I’m so sorry, Gin!”  
  
“Twenty-five years on and you’ve finally had your comeuppance!” she said. “We said at the time, we’d punish you to stop you doing it – and you certainly didn’t do it again – but the payback would come when your own kids do it. Ooh, Harry will be so happy when I tell him!”  
  
“Just don’t tell Fleur or your mother,” Teddy said hurriedly. “I like my head just fine where it is.”  
  
Ginny and I both laughed.  
  
“What were you talking to James and Al about?” I asked. “You boys looked like you were up to mischief as usual.”  
  
“Oh, it was nothing, just a bit of sibling banter,” Teddy said cheerily. “Ribbing Al on his lack of a girlfriend.”  
  
“Lily doesn’t have a boyfriend,” I pointed out.  
  
“Quite right, and she won’t have one until she’s at least thirty,” he said promptly. “But from what I’m led to believe from Ministry gossip, Al has a plethora of charming young ladies who would love the opportunity to get to know him better.”  
  
“You are _so_ like my brothers,” Ginny sighed. “Honestly, maybe if you and James left Al alone instead of badgering him all the time, maybe he’d find his one true love.”  
  
“Or maybe he’s already found her and is keeping her away from you two reprobates,” I suggested.  
  
Teddy frowned at me suspiciously over his empty bowl.  
  
“Do you know something I don’t?”  
  
But he was distracted by the arrival of the main course. In the midst of the chaos of the soup bowls being cleared up and replaced by plates for the roast, Ginny leaned over to me and murmured, “ _Does_ Albus have a secret girlfriend?”  
  
“If he does, I know nothing about it,” I replied, dishing up pork for us both, “but I wouldn’t blame him if he did.”  
  
“No, neither would I,” she said with a wry smile. “Just so long as he tells me, of course. Mothers need to know these things. Potatoes?”  
  
After a few minutes of “pass the Yorkshire puddings down” and “are there any sprouts left?” and “Ron, how much pork?!” everyone had a plate of food they were happy with, and normal service was resumed.  
  
“And speaking of things mothers need to know about,” Ginny continued to me quietly, “Audrey tells me you had a conversation with Lucius Malfoy last night.”  
  
I winced.  
  
“It was nothing-” I began.  
  
But Teddy had overheard.  
  
“Lucius Malfoy spoke to you?” he said sharply.  
  
The whole table fell silent and turned to look at us. I could sense James’ gaze from five seats down, and was determined not to look in Scorpius’ direction.  
  
“He – I – we came across each other…” I began.  
  
“What did he say?” Grandpa Arthur asked, looking worried.  
  
“Oh, just some nonsense about how hard it is for wizard-kind to see me parading around their world when they have to stay secret in mine,” I said, trying to sound as though the conversation hadn’t bothered me in the slightest. I didn’t think it wise to tell anyone about the thinly-veiled threat Lucius had also directed at me.  
  
“ _What_ an idiot,” Hermione said furiously.  
  
“Carlotta certainly gave as good as she got,” Percy said, sounding as though he wasn’t sure whether to be proud or exasperated by this.  
  
“Maybe…” said Rose slowly, “maybe he’s got a point?”  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
Even Scorpius was looking at her incredulously.  
  
“No, hear me out!” she said. “I just mean … we’ve been hiding for centuries … and the world has changed so much since we went into hiding … what if … what if we came out of hiding? I mean, would it be such a bad thing?”  
  
“I don’t know if it would work…” Lily said slowly. “I mean, Muggles now, they’re not scared of witchcraft any more, but they still see threats to their security, and some of them _are_ real, but a lot of them aren’t … I don’t know how they’d receive us en masse…”  
  
“They’d freak out, of course,” Molly said, as though the answer was an obvious one. “They’re all the same, they run from everything they don’t understand-”  
  
“Molly…” James said in a warning tone.  
  
“Excuse me, not all of us freak out,” Maddie interrupted, her voice shaking with cold rage.  
  
“Well, yes, you were different, but you were Lily’s friend for years, it was an entirely different situation. But Carlotta ran at first-”  
  
“Don’t you dare bring Carla into this,” James snarled.  
  
“ _Enough_!” Nana Molly said loudly, banging her hand on the table for effect; James and Molly both looked sheepish. “This is _not_ a conversation we will be having at any dinner table, ever, especially not when it involves pointing fingers at members of this family.”  
  
“Sorry, Nana,” Molly murmured.  
  
James also uttered an apology, but he looked mutinous, as did Albus, Brigid and Maddie. I thrust my hands under the table to hide the fact they were shaking violently. Ginny noticed the gesture and took my left hand in her right under the table, squeezing it slightly. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, followed by a deep drink of mead, and eventually carried on eating.  
  
Tentative conversation had slowly struck up again along the table; Ginny was now talking to George on her other side, while to my right Teddy and Hugo were chatting. I didn’t involve myself in either conversation, but simply ate my food in silence, pretending I couldn’t feel James’ gaze boring into me from up the table.  
  
As soon as the last plate –Dominique’s – was cleared, I leapt to my feet and began stacking the crockery.  
  
“Sit down, dear, I’m sure the others can clear up by themselves on your day off,” Ginny said gently.  
  
“It’s fine, it’ll be quicker this way,” I said brusquely.  
  
“Well at least let me help then-”  
  
“Don’t worry, I can do it myself.”  
  
As it turned out, I couldn’t carry thirty-four plates by myself, and so Kreacher appeared to help me. But that was fine, because all I’d wanted was an excuse to get out of the room. I stumbled into the kitchen, dumped a pile of plates down next to the sink, and let out a deep breath.  
  
“That was a big sigh, duck,” Aggie said gently from behind me. “What’s up?”  
  
“Oh, nothing, it just got a bit heated in there a moment ago,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.  
  
“Ah, that’s no wonder, what with so many clashing personalities all in one room,” Aggie said, rubbing my back soothingly. “Don’t you let them bother you now.”  
  
The kitchen door swung open again. I knew before I saw him that the perpetrator would be James.  
  
“I’m fine,” I said, before he could ask.  
  
“You’re not,” he said, taking my hands in his, “but that’s okay. We can both pretend, for now.” He kissed my forehead lightly. I closed my eyes, leaning into him. “Don’t pay any attention to what Molly says. You know what she’s like, she never thinks before she speaks.”  
  
“I know,” I mumbled into his jumper.  
  
“I just wish you’d told me about Malfoy.”  
  
“I didn’t want you to worry.”  
  
“I’ll always worry, you know that.”  
  
 _Didn’t I just_.  
  
“Come on, we’d better go back through for pudding, before Uncle Ron and Hugo eat it all.”  
  
I smile slightly, and let James lead me back through to the Ginger Suite, where the others were digging into Aggie’s best apple crumble.  
  
The rest of the afternoon went by without too much drama – by Weasley standards, at any rate. Roxanne left first, to get to the England camp, and Victoire and Dominique were both keen to get their kids home before they completely tore my pub apart, a sentiment I was completely behind. It was with some regret that Teddy and Ethan sloped off after their wives.  
  
The rest of the family left in their dribs and drabs, some of them only staying for a couple of drinks, others finding friends or acquaintances in the pub to sit down and put the world to rights with. One thing, however, was common amongst them all; as always, they all tried to pay for their food.  
  
“Don’t be daft, it’s on the house, you know that,” I said to Hermione, waving her hand away.  
  
“Please, just this once-”  
  
“Absolutely not. Would you pay if anyone else invite you round their house for lunch?”  
  
“Well, no, but-”  
  
“Then you’re not paying here.”  
  
“Well at least let me pay for all the mead Ron and Hugo drank-”  
  
“If I was to do that, I’d have to charge everyone, and Louis certainly can’t afford it. Please, Hermione, let us treat you guys to Sunday lunch, it’s the least we can do.”  
  
“Well, if you’re sure…” Hermione put her purse away, but she didn’t look convinced. “Well, you look after yourself, and…” She glanced around to make sure nobody else was nearby before continuing. “Don’t let anything Lucius Malfoy says get to you, okay? No-” She held up a hand to stop me interrupting, “don’t try to pretend it didn’t bother you. I know what Malfoy is like, I can full well imagine how intimidating he was. And I don’t think that’s all he said, either. But you need to understand that his views are completely behind the times, and he is very much in the minority. Look at all these people who swarm to your pub and don’t care that you’re a Muggle. I promise, you have no need to worry, okay?”  
  
I smiled slightly.  
  
“I’m not worrying,” I said. “But … thank you.”  
  
***  
  
“I wish you’d just _told_ me, you know.”  
  
 _Here we go_ , I thought to myself.  
  
It was the end of the day, the pub was finally empty of Weasleys and all other patrons, and James and I had retired upstairs to watch a film before bed. I knew he’d been waiting all afternoon to talk to me without anyone else around.  
  
“I mean, my own mother knew you’d had a run-in with him, and I had no clue until Teddy mentioned it at dinner-”  
  
“Shouted it out for the world to hear, more like,” I muttered. “Look, your mum only knew because Audrey told her earlier today. Percy broke up the whole thing last night, that’s how they knew about it. I didn’t want your mum to know, I didn’t want _anyone_ to know, because I knew you’d all make a big deal out of it-”  
  
“But it’s upset you! And it’s all very well saying it hasn’t, but I can tell that it has. And I … I hate the thought that you feel like you can’t tell me something-”  
  
“It’s not that I can’t tell you something, James, it’s that I knew that if I told you about it you’d _worry_ , just like you are now!” I turned to face him on the sofa. “Look, I know that you want to protect me from the evils of your world, and all that jazz, but really, I can look after myself.”  
  
“I know you can look after yourself,” James said, a slight smile on his face. “Trust me, if I didn’t know that after two years I’d be a rubbish boyfriend. I don’t want to look after you – well, I mean, I _do_ , but I don’t think you _need_ it. That’s not what this is about, it’s about you being worked up about something, and feeling like you can’t come to me about it. I … I want to be able to help you, Carls, I want to know that you can come to me if you’re upset about something, and I want _you_ to know that. I want to be here for you if you’re upset or angry or troubled in any way, and … I just want you to tell me about stuff if it’s gotten you worked up! I felt kind of useless today, and my inferiority complex can’t handle that.”  
  
I laughed despite myself.  
  
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just don’t want you to worry about me.”  
  
“I’ll always worry about you, you can’t stop that. It’s my prerogative.” He slung an arm round my shoulders and kissed my forehead. “I just don’t like the thought of _you_ worrying about something and not letting me know about it.”  
  
“I promise to tell you next time a stuck-up pureblood makes snarky comments to me,” I vowed.  
  
“That’s my girl.” James ruffled my hair. “And don’t pay any attention to what Molly says either.”  
  
“I don’t know, she was right in parts,” I said. “She’s right that Muggles panic about things they don’t know about, but she’s wrong to suggest it’s a Muggle trait. It’s a _human_ trait, you magical folk are just as scared of the unknown as we are. She just … said it wrong.”  
  
“We always knew she lacked tact.” James chuckled, settling back in the sofa. “Anyway, we shouldn’t worry ourselves about that conversation, it’s all just hypothetical anyway.”  
  
“Yes, well, if ever there were two people who could start a war of words over a hypothesis, it would be Molly and Rose.”  
  
“I did tell you it was a bad idea to invite them all round at the same time,” James reminded me. “You could always uninvite them next time.”  
  
“Maybe I should uninvite Louis…” I mused.  
  
“That seems unfair, he only drank a third of the mead.”  
  
“It’s not the mead I’m worried about, it’s my health.”  
  
“You are hopeless,” James said fondly.  
  
“I know,” I said simply. “You know, I could do with some help to get him out of my head…”  
  
“You need a distraction,” James said, running a hand up my leg; I giggled. “And I have just the thing in mind…”


	5. cinco

“Are you going to Diagon Alley today?” James asked on Monday morning.  
  
“Yep,” I said, sitting up in bed slowly. “Need to go to Gringotts.”  
  
“Could you pick me up a pair of Quidditch gloves? Mine are more hole than glove, and I was going to go after work today, but I’m helping Neville at Duelling Club and Holmes has asked for some one-on-one coaching before his tryout with the Catapults, so I’ll be finishing late.”  
  
“Sure I can,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. James was bouncing around the room getting ready to head up to the school for breakfast, and was, in my opinion, far too sprightly for a Monday morning. I groaned and flopped back onto my pillows.  
  
“Breakfast service is in half an hour, you’d better get up,” he advised.  
  
“Why do you think I pay Lauren and Kreacher to do breakfast?” I paused. “Well, I _don’t_ pay Kreacher because he doesn’t let me, but that’s beside the point…”  
  
James threw his towel across the room at me. Ever the Chaser, his aim was true; it hit me square in the face.  
  
“Mmph!”  
  
“Lazybones,” he teased.  
  
“Hey,” I objected, pulling the towel off my face and letting it fall to the floor, “I was asleep until you got up at whatever stupid time to go and shower. I was _asleep_. You can’t begrudge me those precious few hours every week when I actually nod off.”  
  
“I like those hours,” he said, sitting down on the bed next to me.  
  
“Why, because I’m quiet?”  
  
“Not what I was going to say, but if you want to give me the lines I’ll take them.” He grinned. “No, I just like watching you sleep.” His grin fell from his face, to be replaced by a frown. “Okay, that sounded weird.”  
  
“Little bit.” I patted him on the head. “Off you go, Professor, we can’t have you being late for school.”  
  
“Says the woman who wants to skip breakfast service.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I’m not going to get back to sleep now, so I may as well get out of bed. Just know that you ruined my first good night’s sleep this year.”  
  
“Don’t exaggerate, you’ve kept me awake at least two nights so far this year with your snoring.” James winked at me, then leapt up to avoid my hand.  
  
“Yeah, you run, Potter,” I said in my most threatening voice.  
  
“What are you going to do, set Cecilia on me?” he teased.  
  
“I might do, she’d probably eat you,” I pointed out.  
  
“That’s true,” he admitted. “She’s already eaten twice her body weight this morning, so ignore her if she tries to tell you she’s dying of hunger.” He leaned back in towards me gingerly and kissed me. “Behave in Diagon Alley, don’t go angering any goblins. And don’t forget my Quidditch gloves.”  
  
“Have fun with Sherlock!” I said cheerily.  
  
James looked at me weirdly, then turned to head out.  
  
“Bloody wizards,” I muttered to myself, pulling the duvet back up over myself, “no respect for Muggle culture.”  
  
“Breakfast service!” James reminded me from the hallway.  
  
I groaned.  
  
***  
  
“Right, I’m off to Diagon Alley, does anyone need anything?”  
  
Lauren, Aggie and Daryl all burst into a chorus of requests.  
  
“Ooh, could you get me a bottle of Sleakeazy’s?”  
  
“There’s a new book I’ve been meaning to buy, could you get it for me?”  
  
“Celestina Warbeck’s new album!”  
  
“Celestina’s still going?” I blinked.  
  
“Oh, Aggie,” Lauren sighed. “Celestina, really?”  
  
“She’s an ageless talent,” Aggie argued.  
  
“Well, she’s certainly one of a kind,” Daryl muttered; he ducked to avoid Aggie’s arm.  
  
Five minutes later, with a shopping list of things for just about everyone _but_ me, I Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron.  
  
My pub’s London counterpart was full of patrons, mostly shoppers who had stopped on the way into Diagon Alley for a mid-morning coffee. The Leaky Cauldron’s landlady, Hannah Longbottom, was behind the bar, and she waved at me cheerily as I passed.  
  
“Morning, Carla!” she called out cheerily. “Oh, Gerry, would you mind…”  
  
“Not at all.” One of the elderly men sitting near the back door with a few companions got to his feet. “Morning, Miss Carla, how are you today?”  
  
“I’m really good, and you?”  
  
Gerry was one of our regulars in the Three Broomsticks; he was there every Thursday night with a few of his fellows and a chess board.  
  
“Still in one piece, I can’t complain.”  
  
He led me out the back to the brick wall that led into Diagon Alley, and tapped the requisite brick with his wand. The wall opened up into the stone archway that revealed the street beyond.  
  
“Thanks Gerry,” I said with a smile, “I’ll see you Thursday.”  
  
And I stepped out onto the cobbles.  
  
Diagon Alley was without a doubt one of my favourite places in the world. I absolutely adored Hogsmeade, with its thatched cottages and cute little shops, but Diagon Alley was what Hogsmeade would look like if someone had placed an Engorgement Charm upon the village. The street meandered away in twists and turns, all the while lined with shops whose displays and customers spilled out of the doors and onto the cobbles.  
  
And what shops they were. The apothecary, the cauldron store, Eeylops Owl Emporium, Flourish & Blotts, Madam Malkin’s, Quality Quidditch Supplies, the luminous orange store front of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes…  
  
But the main feature of Diagon Alley was the enormous snowy-white building that towered over all the others and housed the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and this was my first stop.  
  
I headed up the stone steps and through the bronze doors, nodding in greeting at the goblin standing guard as I passed; he bowed in response. I paused at the second set of doors, silver this time, and smiled wryly at the worded warning engraved upon them, thinking of Harry, Ron and Hermione, and how they had done just what was supposed to be impossible and broken into the supposedly impenetrable bank thirty years ago.  
  
The story of how the three had escaped from the building on the back of a dragon was one of my favourites, and Ron, who was a fantastic story-teller, had relived it numerous times for me. Hearing the bare facts from James was one thing, but Ron was able to convey the sense of danger and sheer terror that had enveloped the three of them at the time, and his retelling never failed to send a shiver down my spine.  
  
At the time of Voldemort’s defeat, there had apparently been public support for a statue outside Gringotts, to commemorate the moment and its importance in the war against Voldemort. But Harry had vetoed the idea before it had a chance to become reality; it seemed the goblins were an incredibly proud species, and Harry had felt it unfair to mark something they saw as such a huge failing on their part, even if it had helped get rid of the worst Dark wizard in history.  
  
“Plus, we definitely don’t need to glorify breaking into Gringotts, or none of our money will ever be safe again,” he’d reasoned to me once. “We only managed it thanks to the help of a goblin who wanted to see Voldemort gone as much as we did – even if he _did_ then turn around and help out his fellows as soon as he got what he wanted out of the scheme.”  
  
Ron always bemoaned this decision.  
  
“I could have been immortalised in stone, riding a dragon!” he said every time he told his tale. “In the middle of Diagon Alley! Can you imagine anything cooler? But then, Harry always did think that sort of thing was crass.”  
  
And as much as I thought I’d love to have a statue of _me_ riding a dragon in the middle of the busiest place in wizarding Britain, I had to agree with Harry that the whole idea sounded rather tacky.  
  
I passed through the silver doors – there were two more goblins there who bowed me through them – and into the enormous marble hall that was the main foyer of the bank.  
  
The first time I’d come to Gringotts, I’d been absolutely dumbstruck by the enormity and beauty of the place. By now I’d become used to the bank, and the goblins who ran it, but I still admired the magnificence of it.  
  
This time round, I headed straight to the counter and found a free goblin.  
  
“Morning,” I said, “I’m here to make some payments.”  
  
“Certainly, ma’am,” he said. “Hodrod!”  
  
I’d dealt with Hodrod a fair few times before. He appeared as if from nowhere, greeted me with the usual bow, and led me off to one of the side rooms. Once seated, I dug into my bag and pulled out four full coin pouches.  
  
“I need to pay some wages,” I began, pushing forwards the three pouches that I’d carefully counted out that morning for Aggie, Daryl and Lauren. Hodrod took them one by one and weighed them in his palm, before setting them aside and making notes of the requisite vaults.  
  
“And then there’s the rest…” I began, moving the last pouch into the centre of the table; it was larger and heavier than the other three. “Have all the suppliers been paid for last month?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am, all the payments have been made from vault six-hundred-and-fourty-two.”  
  
Vault six-four-two was the vault for the Three Broomsticks, which we’d inherited when we took over the business.  
  
“Okay, that’s good … so, with the rest of the money…”  
  
James’ original proposal had been for us both to buy the pub; I was to work out how much I could contribute, and he’d provide the rest. But I’d been cagey about making that sort of financial commitment to an entity that didn’t exist to Muggles. I knew James, in his perfect little world, thought he’d talked me into staying with him, but I was still determined not to outstay my welcome. I wanted to be able to walk away the moment things took a turn for the worse, to leave him to the long and happy life that he could undoubtedly have without me around to hold him back. And I couldn’t do that with a stake in a magical pub.  
  
Not that I’d told James this. I didn’t have a death wish. Instead I’d told him it would be too complicated to try to take the money from my Muggle bank and convert it, and thankfully he’d agreed.  
  
So instead he was the full owner of the pub, and I was his employee. Although we’d never agreed on a wage; in his usual laissez-faire style, he’d insisted that once all the monthly payments were made, I was to take whatever I wanted from the leftover profit. The pub wasn’t a money-maker for him; he’d already earned mounds of Galleons from his Quidditch-playing career, and he had a steady income now from his coaching.  
  
But I refused to just take money from him like that. It was his well-earned profit, which he might need someday, and I couldn’t just help myself to it. So I took the same amount we paid Lauren, and paid the rest into the pub’s account. James didn’t know I did this. He was useless with numbers and money. Instead, Brigid managed our finances.  
  
I counted out the money that was owed to me on this basis, and split it into two even piles.  
  
“This is to go into my corner of James’ vault,” I instructed, “and the other half is to be paid into my Muggle account. Then the rest goes in vault six-four-two.”  
  
James had also told me there was no point in paying money into my Muggle account. He’d told me I could keep as much of my money as I wanted in his vault, in Galleons, as that was the currency I spent most of these days. But I was uncomfortable with the notion of all my money being in Gringotts, where it was useless if I needed it in the Muggle world. So I had at least half my takings from each month paid into my Muggle account, where I could save it up and fall back on it if I needed to.  
  
I knew James wouldn’t like what I was doing if he were to find out. But I was doing it with his best interests at heart, even if he couldn’t see that. That was what I convinced myself every month when Brigid gave me a look while going through the numbers, at any rate.  
  
Once I was done with the pub’s finances, I headed off to do my shopping – well, everyone else’s shopping. My first stop, as always, was Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. George was behind the counter, and wasted no time in assuring me not to worry about the events at the Weasley dinner.  
  
“You know Molly, she shoots her mouth off all the time,” he said. “And Rose likes to think anything is possible, she’s like an overly-concentrated version of Hermione. Everyone will have forgotten the whole conversation happened by next Sunday. And Teddy will have been reminded why you should never say anything loud enough for more than two Weasleys at a time to hear. Anyway, I’m guessing the last thing you want is to go over this all over again, so we’ll change the subject. I’ve got a few freshly-bred pygmy puffs, want one that doesn’t think it has the stomach of a horse?”  
  
“It’s tempting,” I mused, glancing at the pygmy puff display, “but I’ve become rather attached to Cecilia, even if she does have a hunger problem. Although knowing James, he’ll have bumped her off within a couple of months, so I’ll probably be back to buy Cressida before too long.”  
  
“Cressida?” George wrinkled his nose. “Ooh, no, you can’t name a pygmy puff after something you put in a sandwich.”  
  
“Fine, Cynthia.”  
  
“This pygmy puff isn’t the reincarnation of your great-grandmother, you know.”  
  
“Well why don’t you come up with something, instead of just criticising my ideas?” I complained.  
  
“I don’t think you could go wrong with a nice _strong_ name. Like George. Or Georgia if you think it’s a girl puff.”  
  
“James only goes for girl puffs, I’m sure a psychologist would have _lots_ to say about that,” I said. “Plus the name has to fit his weird pattern, it should start with a C and end with an A. He’s very particular about that.”  
  
George grinned wickedly.  
  
“What, like Carlotta?”  
  
I stared at him, truly horrified.  
  
“Oh god,” I said. “I’m one of James’ pygmy puffs.”  
  
***  
  
The shopping done, I stopped in the Leaky Cauldron on the way home for a Butterbeer. The Leaky had an almost constant flow of patrons, owing to its position at the entrance of Diagon Alley; people wishing to visit the shopping street had no choice _but_ to go through the pub, and more often than not they stopped for a drink either on their way in or their way out. Therein lay the main difference between my pub and Hannah’s; few people visited the Leaky Cauldron just to have a drink or a meal there, it was usually far too busy for that. The Three Broomsticks, on the other hand, attracted people who visited pretty much solely to spend an hour or so over a meal or even just a mead or two.  
  
I knew the Leaky had a bigger turnover than my pub did because of that, but I didn’t care; I far preferred the Three Broomsticks’ relaxed, village pub atmosphere to the Leaky’s hubbub. All the same it was nice to while away twenty minutes at Hannah’s bar, watching people come and go. Most of them gave me a smile and a wave as they passed, and some stopped for a quick chat. It seemed running a pub meant the whole wizarding world treated you as a friend. I had to admit, it was nice to think people knew me for that and not just for being James’ Muggle girlfriend.  
  
“Morning, Carlotta.”  
  
I turned at the voice, expecting to see one of my regulars. To my surprise, the voice belonged to Ingrid Feversham.  
  
“Oh, hi Ingrid,” I said, slightly taken aback.  
  
Ingrid was James’ beautiful, graceful and irritatingly likeable ex-girlfriend. I’d had little to do with her in the past two years, short of the occasional conversation at a social gathering. And she’d been absent from the social scene since the death of her boyfriend a couple of months ago.  
  
This was the first time I’d seen her since she’d stumbled into the Three Broomsticks on that November evening, looking unsettlingly absent, as though she had no idea how she’d ended up in Hogsmeade. For someone who’d always come across as being so composed and in control of herself, it was startling to see her so dazed, and it hadn’t taken me long to realise what had happened – after all, Mark had been in St Mungo’s for three weeks – and why she’d come to the pub, even if she didn’t seem to know for herself – with no real family or friends of her own, and a dead boyfriend whose Muggle family despised the magical world for being unable to cure his cancer, James was pretty much the only person she had left in the world.  
  
And sure enough, James had crossed the pub to Ingrid – pausing only to look across to me as if to check he could go to her, a look I’d replied to with a sharp nod because really, what else could I do? – and steered her up the rickety staircase to the flat above.  
  
I’d headed upstairs at the end of the night to find Ingrid curled up asleep on the sofa in our living room, Cecilia tucked into her chest. James had emerged from the kitchen, looking exhausted, and pulled me into a painfully tight hug. It had been an oddly reassuring feeling, that after an evening spent comforting his grieving ex-girlfriend, he’d sought his own comfort in my arms.  
  
Ingrid had gone by the time I awoke the next morning, and I hadn’t seen her since, until now.  
  
“How … how are you?” I asked her awkwardly. It seemed like a stupid question to ask given the circumstances, and yet it would have felt rude not to ask it.  
  
“I’m okay,” she said with a faint smile. “I’ve just started Healer training – I always wanted to do it before, but it doesn’t pay well and at the time we needed the money. But I thought that going back to one of my old dreams and making it happen was a good way to carry on with life.” She paused. “How’s the pub going?”  
  
“Good as ever, Sundays are always fully booked which is nice.”  
  
“And you and James? Both doing well, I hope?”  
  
It was my turn to smile.  
  
“You know James, he’s always happy so long as he’s got something to work for, he’s got enough drive and motivation for three people.”  
  
“And you?” she asked again. “How are you getting on?”  
  
James had always said that Ingrid was too perceptive for her own good. And I knew exactly what she meant by the question. But I pretended I was ignorant of the undertones.  
  
“Oh, I’m fine,” I said airily.  
  
The look she gave me told me she knew all too well that I’d understood what she’d meant and chosen to ignore it.  
  
“Well, that’s good,” was all she said.  
  
It felt as though we were having two conversations at the same time.  
  
I looked at her for a moment, noticing that her eyes lacked the sparkle they’d had before, that her once glossy hair seemed limp. It was as though all her hopes of happiness had died with her boyfriend.  
  
“Come to the pub for dinner Friday evening,” I told her suddenly. “I know James would like to see you. And Aggie cooks her steak and kidney pie on Fridays, your life won’t be complete until you’ve tried it-”  
  
_Tactless_.  
  
But Ingrid just smiled again.  
  
“That sounds nice,” she said. “I’ll pop round, thanks for the invite. Anyway, I need to be going, I’m supposed to be at the hospital in ten minutes…”  
  
I watched her heading off towards the fireplace, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my stomach caused by what I’d just done.  
  
***  
  
James came home from work happy.  
  
“Pedlar’s told the Hufflepuff Captain he’s stepping down for Gobstones, like everyone thought he would,” he said to me while trying on his new Quidditch gloves. “And O’Donnell asked Gina Parker at lunch if she wanted to join the team. He’s not even calling tryouts, he’s that confident about her. She was _so_ happy about it, bless her. And then Lorcan Scamander absolutely _trounced_ that Zabini brat at Duelling Club. And to top it all off, the Heads of House have put in their nominations for next year’s Head Boy and Girl, and it looks like they’ll both be Gryffindors!”  
  
“What happened to ‘I’m fair to all the Houses and don’t show any Gryffindor favouritism’?” I smirked.  
  
“I don’t, but I’m not going to complain about Gryffindors running the world.”  
  
It was all I could do to suppress an eye roll.  
  
“So how was your day?” James asked, having pronounced the Quidditch gloves as ‘excellent’.  
  
“Well, George tried to make me buy a new pygmy puff and call it George,” I began.  
  
“George isn’t a pygmy puff name,” James argued.  
  
“I told him that. And then he pointed out that Carlotta _is_.”  
  
James blinked. It was clear he’d completely overlooked this as well.  
  
“So, how do you feel about being pink and fluffy?” he said with a smirk.  
  
“Sod off,” I said, as he laughed.  
  
He was distracted by a drinks order, and while he poured a pint of mead I steeled myself for what I had to tell him.  
  
“I saw Ingrid in the Leaky,” I said once James had deposited the coins in the ancient till.  
  
“Really? How was she?”  
  
“She was … okay…” I said slowly. “She’s started Healer training, she said she always wanted to do it but had to earn money instead. She seems pretty lonely though, poor thing.”  
  
“I guess she must be…” James mused.  
  
“I’ve invited her to dinner on Friday,” I continued. “I thought it would be nice for you two to have a nice chat.”  
  
I was hoping he wouldn’t figure me out. But to my disappointment, he gave me a shrewd look straight away.  
  
“Did you really think that?” he said coolly. “Or did you think that if you invited her here you could show me how she’s ‘free of burden’ these days?”  
  
My heart sped up slightly; I feigned incomprehension.  
  
“What? I don’t know what you-”  
  
“You know exactly what I mean,” he said sharply. “You know, Carla, I thought we’d had this conversation enough times by now.”  
  
“Do you really think so little of me that you think I’d do something like this for my own motives?” I said, trying to pretend that wasn’t exactly why I’d done it.  
  
James gave me a horribly scathing look.  
  
“Don’t try to manipulate me, it’s not an attractive trait. I’m going to bed.”  
  
And as he headed up to the flat, he slammed the door to the staircase shut behind him, leaving me with a sense of self-loathing stronger than anything Parky had ever made me feel.  
  
***  
  
James was his usual cheery self the next morning; it was as though last night’s argument hadn’t happened. But I knew him better than that; he was just hoping that if he didn’t broach the subject again, maybe I’d change my mind about it.  
  
If he knew me as well as I knew him, then he would know that his was a false hope.  
  
Friday night arrived far too quickly for my liking. James finished work early, as he always did, and headed straight upstairs to change out of his Quidditch robes. He wore his old Falcons robes to coach, dark grey with “POTTER” emblazoned across the shoulders.  
  
Ingrid arrived before James reappeared. She’d clearly made an effort; even in jeans and a blazer she still looked effortlessly good-looking, and her hair, which she’d twisted up into a bun, seemed to shine.  
  
I was well aware that my messy curls were sticking out of the ponytail I’d tied this morning, and that I had pastry dough under my fingernails and on my apron. Even though my head was telling me I should be glad that Ingrid was looking so healthy, that if she looked terrible it would give James more ammunition in our long-standing battle, my heart couldn’t help but twinge with envy and annoyance.  
  
But when James came downstairs, he wrapped his arms round me from behind me and squeezed me tightly, kissing my flour-covered cheek and not even so much as glancing across the room to where Ingrid had settled herself at a table with a glass of wine. It was as though he was blinded to her radiance.  
  
“Can you get Lauren to tend bar tonight?” he wheedled in my ear. “Come and eat dinner like normal people do for once.”  
  
I swallowed.  
  
“Okay,” I said. “Just … let me pop upstairs and freshen up first.”  
  
“No worries.” He kissed my cheek again and headed off in Lauren’s direction, presumably to ask her to relieve me. It was only after he’d talked to her that he realised Ingrid was here, doing a double-take and changing direction mid-step to head to her table. She got to her feet and greeted him with a smile; he hugged her and kissed her cheek as he’d just done with me.  
  
“You’re an idiot,” said Lauren, joining me behind the counter. “I know exactly what you’re trying to do, and it’s definitely not going to work.”  
  
“I can bloody well try,” I muttered, heading off to change.  
  
Once I’d put on clean clothes and brushed the tangles out of my hair, I joined James and Ingrid at their table with a bottle of wine and a large glass. I poured myself a generous measure, and refilled Ingrid’s glass as well. James was drinking pumpkin juice.  
  
“James was just telling me about your trip to Prague,” Ingrid said with a smile in my direction. “Sounds like a wonderful birthday present.”  
  
“Oh, it was,” I said. “It was a complete surprise as well, I don’t know how he managed to keep it a secret.”  
  
“Believe me, neither do I,” James said with a wry grin. Under the table, his hand found my thigh and squeezed it gently.  
  
“And how is Lily’s Squib stuff going?” Ingrid continued. “I hear there was a fancy get-together last weekend.”  
  
“Yep, Lucius Malfoy opened his doors for us all,” I said. “And some generous soul donated a set of solid gold Gobstones for auction, and James went for a thousand Galleons.”  
  
Ingrid blinked.  
  
“You … auctioned _yourself_?”  
  
“I auctioned my coaching services,” he corrected her. “Not quite so seedy as it sounds. Anything to help Lily raise a bit more money, and if people want more Quidditch coaching then who am I to deny them?”  
  
“How truly honourable you are,” Ingrid said with a slight smile, and I could tell she knew as well as I did both that James’ price had been as much to do with his name than the service he offered, and that he was trying hard to remain ignorant of the fact.  
  
“I’m glad the coaching is going well for you,” she continued. “Don’t you miss playing though?”  
  
“A little,” James confessed. “I was pretty jealous of the guys jetting off to South America for their winter tour. But I don’t miss the pressure and the attention, it saps all the fun out of it. At least at Hogwarts the kids can still enjoy playing without having the eyes of the world on them.”  
  
“All the same, House Quidditch is still a pretty serious business,” Ingrid pointed out. “I remember how worked up you used to get about having to win every game. Do you remember when you lost to Slytherin in our Sixth Year? You didn’t talk to me for a whole _week_ , you just sulked in your dorm. He always was a terrible loser,” she added for my benefit, “he couldn’t bring himself to face me after my house beat his. And I wasn’t even supporting Slytherin! I don’t know _what_ he expected, I was hardly going to gloat at him over it…”  
  
“We nearly lost the Cup that year!” James proclaimed defensively. “If Ravenclaw hadn’t beaten Slytherin, and we hadn’t beaten Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, it would have been game over. You never understood the importance of Quidditch, I told you that-”  
  
“Men,” Ingrid said with an eye roll. “Just because we don’t play, we can’t possibly begin to understand the need to win. Is he still like that now?”  
  
But she was smiling all the same.  
  
“You make me sound like I was obsessed with winning,” James said, almost sulkily.  
  
“That’s because you _were_ , dear,” Ingrid said, almost patronisingly. “And not just at Quidditch either. Do you remember when I beat you in that Transfiguration test? You said you didn’t care, and then stormed off to the pitch to smack a Bludger around. Not to mention after O.W.Ls…”  
  
The conversation went on, James and Ingrid reminiscing over their school days at Hogwarts, reliving shared experiences that I’d never had a chance to be a part of. I knew I was an idiot for resenting them this moment when I’d deliberately set it up, but I couldn’t help feeling that horrible pang of envy.  
  
And all the while James’ hand stayed on my thigh, his thumb lightly stroking my leg.  
  
After a generous serving of steak and kidney pie and two more wine bottles – I suspected I’d drank most of it – Ingrid rose to leave.  
  
“How much do I owe?” she asked, reaching for her bag.  
  
“It’s on the house,” I said with a dismissive hand wave, stacking the dirty plates. It dimly occurred to me that I was offering a lot for free this month.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Absolutely,” James said, getting to his feet and trying to help me; I slapped his hand away lightly. “Our treat,” he continued to Ingrid. “It was nice to see you again. And please, feel free to drop in whenever you want, I’m around every evening and Carla’s usually here all day, we’d both love to see you again…”  
  
I took the plates and empty wine bottles into the kitchen, leaving them to say goodbye. Daryl and Aggie had finished for the night and were sharing a bottle of wine over the main counter; both of them turned to look at me as I joined them.  
  
“Don’t say anything, either of you,” I said sharply.  
  
“Who said we were going to say anything, duck?” Aggie said.  
  
“Because I know you both,” I said. “I know you’ll try to tell me I’m an idiot, like everyone else does, without even bothering to think about _why_ I’m doing it. So if all you’re going to do is berate me, then don’t say anything.”  
  
“The only thing I was going to say,” said Daryl softly, “was that you should grab a glass and come and have a drink with us.”  
  
I tried to smile, although it felt more like a grimace.  
  
“I should help the others clear up,” I said quietly. “But thanks.”  
  
Ingrid had left while I was in the kitchen, and the pub was empty save for James and Lauren, who were magically wiping down the tables. I started to put away the clean glasses, but before long James joined me and finished the job with one swish of his wand.  
  
“Bedtime,” he murmured to me, placing a hand on the small of my back. I allowed him to steer me up the staircase into the flat.  
  
“You need to start taking a couple of evenings off, you look dead on your feet having to work the whole day all week,” he said.  
  
“But then Lauren has to do more, and that doesn’t seem fair,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed.  
  
“In that case we’ll employ someone else and share it all out a bit more. I’m sure we can afford it.”  
  
“We can talk about it somewhen else,” I said. I hesitated for a moment, pulling my jumper off over my head. “Ingrid seemed happy,” I added eventually.  
  
“You think? I thought it was pretty obvious she’s still pretty heartbroken over losing Mark,” James replied. “You notice she kept the conversation well and truly in the past, she’s trying to lose herself in memories that don’t include him to try to stop herself thinking about him.”  
  
“Or maybe she just wanted to think about the happy times she spent with you,” I suggested in an innocent voice. “She must be pretty lonely at the moment, it would be nice for her to see more of you. At least she’s finally able to do her Healer training, that must be some reassurance for her-”  
  
“Will you stop this?” James snapped suddenly. “How many times, _how many times_ are we going to do this, Carla?”  
  
I figured the best tactic was to drop the pretence and just come out with it.  
  
“Can’t you _see_ , James, she’s absolutely distraught still, and why?! Because she stuck around with him even after he’d told her to leave, because he _knew_ there was never going to be a happily ever after with them! And then she had to watch the man she loves _die_ , and … she’s barely been seen since! What’s she been doing, sitting around at home grieving, crying into her pillow every night? For two whole months! And great, she can finally do what _she_ wants to do with her life, but how many years has she had to sit around and wait before she could finally start thinking about herself instead of having to put someone else’s needs first all the time? Is that what you want for yourself-”  
  
“What I want,” said James coldly, “is for you to stop being so selfish and start listening to what _I_ want from my life, instead of assuming it’s a life without you and trying to push me back at my ex-girlfriend to prove it.”  
  
And with that, he Disapparated.  
  
I groaned, falling back onto the bed. Why, _why_ couldn’t he understand?  
  
A couple of minutes later, there was another _pop_ , and the mattress beside me sank slightly with someone’s weight.  
  
“Here,” Brigid said, handing me a bottle of Firewhisky. I sat up and took a large swig.  
  
“Darling, I know you think none of us gets what you mean, and James least of all, but I promise you, we all do. But you can’t make him do something he doesn’t want to do.”  
  
“I just want him to be happy,” I said; my voice cracked. “Why can’t he see that?”  
  
“But he _is_ happy, Carls, _you_ make him happy. That’s the point, that’s what he keeps trying to say; it’s all very well you saying he’d be happier without you, but that’s not the case and deep down you must know that. He loves you, why would he _choose_ to spend a single moment of his life without you?”  
  
“I’m not sure I’d go _that_ far,” I mumbled.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, you know.” I shifted sideways slightly. “The whole _love_ thing.”  
  
Brigid looked at me, utterly bemused.  
  
“He _has_ told you he loves you, hasn’t he?”  
  
“Well, it’s not really a thing we _do_ …”  
  
“Honey, he bought you a _pub_ , of course he loves you!” She paused. “I wish Freddie would buy me a pub.”  
  
“He gave you half a shop, didn’t he?”  
  
“Oh, that doesn’t count, the place was already his and he has to live above the shop, he didn’t have any choice but to let me move in. In fact, if anything _I_ made the demonstration of love by being the one to move to be where he was. Besides, we live there rent-free. It’s a no-brainer, really. It hardly screams ‘romance’ though, does it?”  
  
“He’d buy you a pub if you asked him,” I said. “Heck, he’d buy you Guatemala if you asked him to.”  
  
“Pitiful,” Brigid said. “Guatemala’s got nothing going for it, he could at least buy Brazil.”  
  
“Try him, he might consider it as an anniversary gift,” I suggested.  
  
“He might, but stop talking about my marriage, and let’s get back to your relationship, which is _so_ loving and transparent that apparently neither of you have actually said ‘I love you’. Although I suppose at least I know why _you_ haven’t said anything. You know, this silly thing where you try not to encourage him to commit to this relationship would be working much better if you hadn’t agreed to move in with him. _Twice_.”  
  
“I-” I swallowed. “He … he makes me happy, I want to be with him more than anything, but I can’t put him through what Ingrid’s had to go through! You didn’t see her when she came here after he died, you didn’t see her the other day in London, that’s what James will be like if something happens to me – _when_ something happens to me.”  
  
“It won’t,” Brigid said flatly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the guy would be cut up if anything was to happen to you. But that’s an unavoidable part of being in love. And he’d have something Ingrid doesn’t have; a family and friends to help him if he ever needs support. And before you try to tell me you’ll be holding him back, you know for a fact that’s not the case. At the end of the day, you’re happy being with each other and you’d both be miserable as hell for the rest of your lives if you were to split up. Surely it’s better to have the good times rather than deny both of you that?”  
  
“But-”  
  
“Look, you’re daft, and I love you, but you need to start living for the moment.” Brigid wrapped an arm round my shoulders and squeezed. “And you _definitely_ need to stop trying to push him into the arms of Ingrid Feversham. _That_ ship has sailed.”  
  
I sighed.  
  
“I hate it when you’re right,” I grumbled. “Whisky?”  
  
I proffered the now half-empty bottle in her direction.  
  
“Na, I’m tee-total right now.”  
  
“ _Still_? Bloody hell, you haven’t drank since my birthday, have you? I know you were hanging after the Hinky, but-”  
  
“I nearly died,” Brigid said dramatically. “I think it took me a whole month to sober up from that. Don’t you worry, you’ll know as soon as I’m back on the wagon.”  
  
“But for now, I guess all the more for me.” I took a large swig of Firewhisky. “God, James is going to be mad at me forever, isn’t he?”  
  
“Course he’s not,” she said reassuringly. “You know him, he can never stay mad at you for long. And once he’s calmed down, he’ll remember you’ve just got his best interests at heart; he can’t possibly be angry when that’s your motive. You just need to trust that he knows what he’s doing, he knows what’s coming, and he’s willing to go through it all, just to be with you.”  
  
“He’s an idiot,” I muttered.  
  
“He is,” she agreed, “but not because he wants to stick with you. And quite frankly, I’m just upset that you’re only trying to push James away. Don’t I count? Don’t you think I’d be just a little bit bummed if something was to happen to my best mate?”  
  
“Oh, Brie, you know I hate the thought of you being upset just as much as I do James. But that’s _different_ , you can have more than one friend. And you don’t necessarily build a life around a friendship, it’s not as disabling if something happens to a friend.”  
  
“Well, it’s nice to know how you’d feel if I died,” said Brigid dramatically, but she was smiling and I knew she understood what I meant, even if it _was_ slightly illogical. “Anyway, shall we put one of those Muggle films on? What about that one with the blue aliens, we’ll see if we can get through the whole thing without the boys around to talk over it. I’ll make hot chocolate, have you got any cake up here?”  
  
I smiled as Brigid headed off to the kitchen. Hopefully James and I would be okay by the morning. But it was reassuring to know that Brigid would be there for me in the meantime.


	6. seis

It was early morning by the time the film finished and Brigid headed back up the street to Wheezes. I wasn’t expecting to see James until the morning, but he arrived home within ten minutes of me tucking myself into bed. I feigned sleep, not wanting to face him, but to my misfortune he knew all too well that I struggled to get to sleep at the best of times.  
  
I was curled up on my side, my back to his side of the bed, but I felt the mattress sag slightly as he got into bed. He wrapped an arm round me and kissed the back of my shoulder lightly; I squeezed my eyes tightly shut.  
  
“I shouldn’t have called you selfish,” he said quietly. “I know you were thinking about _me_ , not you. But it feels like you don’t trust me to know my own mind, and I just _wish_ you’d believe me when I say I’m not leaving this. You. _Us_.”  
  
I placed my hand atop his and squeezed it tightly. But I said nothing. The truth was, I didn’t know _what_ to say. This had been an ongoing battle for two years between me and James – between me and my own health. How could I condemn him to a life half full of misery, and half full of loss?  
  
But for whatever reason, he just didn’t see it the way I did. I wanted to respect his decision – I wanted to believe he was right, that he was _truthful_ , that I would never have to experience being alone again. And yet, I felt terrible for letting him do this to himself. It was as though I were trapped in paradise.  
  
I couldn’t bear the thought of breaking his heart. The trouble was, I didn’t know which outcome would crush him more.  
  
***  
  
“I have an idea, and you’re both going to love it.”  
  
The weekend had brought with it a horrendous storm, which meant Quidditch training up at Hogwarts had been cancelled and I had James to myself for the day. It also meant he was keeping me company behind the bar counter when Lily hopped out of the fireplace and bounded over to us with unbridled excitement.  
  
“Your ideas tend to scare me,” James confessed to his sister, “but go ahead.”  
  
“Cast your eyes over _this_.” She smacked a piece of paper down on the counter in front of us. It was mostly covered with her neat writing, but it had a particular header across the top.  
  
“Lily,” I frowned, leaning in to examine the paper closely, “did you take this from the Prime Minister’s office?”  
  
“Oh, he’s got loads of letter-headed paper lying around, he won’t miss one sheet,” she said, disregarding my point with an airy wave of her hand. “Don’t look at his bit, look at _my_ bit.”  
  
I shifted my eyes downwards, to see that what she’d written out was a list of names. More accurately, it was a list of Weasley family members. But it was curious for two reasons. Firstly, it wasn’t a comprehensive list. Secondly, each name had a letter by it – either a B, a C, a K or an S.  
  
“I don’t follow,” I said blankly.  
  
But a smile was spreading across James’ face.  
  
“Okay, I’ll give you this one, Lils. This is an _awesome_ idea.”  
  
“What do you mean? It’s not an idea, it’s a load of your names, what on earth do you get from _that_?” I frowned, leaning in closer, as though that would somehow reveal something I’d missed.  
  
“Lily’s idea, obviously,” James said. “It’s simple, don’t you get it?”  
  
“Give her time, James, it’s not as engrained in her head as it is ours. We grew up with it, she didn’t.” Lily pulled up a stool and perched on it, shifting the paper so it was directly in front of me. “Think about it. Why would Mum and James have a C by their name, but Dad and Al have an S? And why would Roxie and Brie have a C, and Freddie a B?”  
  
I looked over the list again, willing it to tell me the answer, and tried to ignore James, who was practically bouncing next to me. He was apparently a C at something … but what?  
  
And then it came to me, and I was ashamed it had taken me so long.  
  
“This is a list of Quidditch players,” I said slowly.  
  
“Exactly!” beamed Lily. “A Weasley family exhibition match for the Foundation! Think about it! We’d make a fortune, people would turn out in their droves to see James and Roxie playing! I mean,” she added, turning to look at James, “you’d have to be on opposite teams, or it would be far too unbalanced.”  
  
“I don’t see how it would, the others are all fine Chasers too-”  
  
“Speaking fairly here, the only other international-level Chaser on this list is Mum, and she hasn’t played for years, she’ll be rusty. You and Roxie will be a cut above everyone else, and you know it. And it’ll be more fun to see you playing against each other anyway, that’s never happened before. And Dad versus Al at Seeker! It’s mouth-watering stuff.”  
  
I frowned, looking at the list once more, and wondering how on earth Lily’s concept hadn’t hit me over the head with a sledgehammer straight away. But then, she was right – any member of her family would look at this list and see the theme immediately. Quidditch was their _religion_ , and they would all know someone’s position like they would hair colour. But it was all far less familiar to me – I hadn’t even realised some of them had _played_ Quidditch.  
  
“You’ve got a problem with it,” James piped up, having scanned the list again over my shoulder.  
  
“I know,” Lily sighed.  
  
“What do you mean?” I counted the names – there were fourteen people, with Charlie (S) at the top of the list, and Roxanne (C) at the bottom; Lily had presumably listed her family in age order. “You’re lucky you’ve got fourteen players…”  
  
“Well, yes, I was amazed at how it turned out,” she admitted. “I mean, this is including Teddy, Ethan and Brigid, but I suppose if Dad and Aunt Angelina count as family then so do those three. So, what do you think?”  
  
“I think it’s a really good idea-” I began.  
  
“But you’re down a Beater, and you’ve got three Seekers,” James finished, before I could figure out Lily’s conundrum for myself.  
  
“ _James_ , you ruined it!” I moaned, punching him in the arm. “I would’ve gotten that, if you’d given me another ten minutes.”  
  
“You sap the fun out of everything,” Lily mock-scolded him. “So, what do you think I should do?”  
  
“Well,” James said slowly, “Dad and Al are hardly the right frame for Beaters. But Uncle Charlie’s pretty stocky, I reckon he could make a decent stand-in. And I’m sure he’d say yes, given the cause.”  
  
“That’s what I thought,” she agreed.  
  
“Is there nobody else who plays Beater?” I asked.  
  
“Nope,” James said. “Uncle Bill never played, nor do any of his side of the family. Same goes for Uncle Percy.”  
  
“There’s some freaky correlation with our family and Quidditch,” Lily said. “If both parents played, all the kids played. If one parent played, then one kid played. And if neither parent played, then none of the kids were interested. And then there’s me, the complete odd one out.”  
  
“That … is actually true,” James said, sounding surprised and impressed. “I’d never even realised that!”  
  
“Neither had I, until I wrote this out,” Lily said, tapping the counter.  
  
“Heh, that’s weird,” I agreed. “So … Hermione never played?”  
  
James and Lily both laughed.  
  
“Aunt Hermione is _terrible_ at Quidditch,” she said. “Which, of course, everyone agrees is a good thing for her. Rose never played either, although she obviously enjoys it, or she wouldn’t work in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Trust me, that’s our lot.”  
  
“Well, maybe it’s not…” I frowned. “What about Alice?”  
  
I wasn’t sure how far Lily would go in counting Alice as family, given she and Hugo were only dating. In fact, Alice didn’t even have a Weasley jumper.  
  
“No, she doesn’t play,” Lily said. “Although-”  
  
“Oh, bloody hell,” James suddenly interjected.  
  
“-you’re getting close to my other problem,” Lily finished.  
  
“There’s another problem?” I looked back at the list, trying to work it out. Then it came to me, and my head snapped back up.  
  
“Scorpius played House Quidditch, didn’t he.”  
  
Lily nodded, looking nervous.  
  
“Chaser, for Slytherin. I mean, we already have six Chasers, so I suppose he’s surplus to requirements anyway. But … I mean, should I consider him? Will he and Rose be upset if I don’t? But then what would it say if I _do_?” She glanced nervously at James, who remained silent.  
  
Scorpius didn’t have a Weasley jumper either. But he’d been with Rose for longer than I’d been with James.  
  
“I don’t think you need to worry too much about it,” I reassured her. “Just explain that you picked out the married family members, and you don’t need the extra Chaser. Scorp’s a big boy, he won’t take offence.”  
  
“I hope not,” Lily sighed. But then her eyes lit up again. “But think about how exciting it would be! The whole family has never played together before! I’ve even thought about how I’d split the teams. I mean, initially I thought we could split by generation, but then that probably wouldn’t be fair on the older generation because they’ll be more out of practice, plus that means putting James and Roxanne together. And the Chasers don’t split out evenly anyway. _And_ it would just be repeating the old Gryffindor teams, and while that might be nostalgic, it’s a bit boring. I think it would be much more interesting if you mixed it all around a bit.”  
  
“I could play with Mum,” James said excitedly.  
  
“Well,” Lily hesitated, “I’d thought about going for two Potters on each team, so you could be on Dad’s team and Al could be on Mum’s, maybe? And then Roxie with Uncle George, and Freddie and Aunt Angie on the opposite team, and Freddie and Brie up against each other-”  
  
“I bagsy Brie,” James said quickly. “No, wait … it would be cool to play with Aunt Angie though, and I’m not sure I’d want to be playing against Freddie, I’d be flattened. And I suppose you’d have to put me and Teddy on opposite teams if you want to balance your Chasers out … oh, this is going to be _awesome_ , Lils! I can’t wait to thrash Albus, it’ll be better than winning the World Cup. When’s it going to happen? _Where’s_ it going to happen?”  
  
“Slow down Jim, I’ve got to get people to _agree_ to it first,” Lily pointed out.  
  
“Oh, come on, Lils, nobody’s going to say _no_ , not when it’s for the Foundation.”  
  
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I’m not sure if Mum will want to do it. I’m pretty certain Dad, Uncle Ron and Uncle George will be up for it, but you never know. And will Roxie even be _allowed_? I don’t know how much of a say the Falcons and England have over what she does in her spare time.”  
  
“Depends how early you can hold it,” James reasoned. “I mean, if you can get it planned and over with before the League starts, you should be safe. Once we get into the season you’d have to avoid fixtures and hope Sinead lets her play on a free weekend.”  
  
“Oh, it definitely ought to happen before the League starts. Which answers your other question – ideally I’d want to hold it at Hogwarts, before the exam season starts. That means all the students will be able to go, and that’s a huge market.”  
  
“It’s got potential,” James agreed.  
  
“It’ll pack the pub out,” I added.  
  
“It would; you can thank me later.” She shot me a cheeky wink. “Actually, you can help me at the match, as well. I want programmes, banners, all sorts of merchandise; we’re going to go all out, make this the biggest thing on British soil since the World Cup Final.”  
  
“Lil,” James said tentatively, “don’t you think you’re thinking … well, a bit _big_ here? It’s just a fun family Quidditch match, it’s hardly going to engage the whole of wizarding Britain.”  
  
I, however, suspected James was rather underestimating the sway he and his family held over the Quidditch-loving wizarding nation, and judging by the look on Lily’s face, she felt exactly the same.  
  
***  
  
Lily suggested her plan to the rest of the family at Sunday lunch. It was a packed house once more; while the clan tended to have other engagements during the summer, namely Quidditch matches, midwinter was a far less attractive period for doing anything other than sitting by a roaring fire with a Firewhisky – or devouring a Sunday roast. Even Roxanne was here, as the bad weather had brought about an early end to England’s training camp. Charlie had his bag with him, as he was heading back to Romania this evening.  
  
“I think it’s a fantastic idea,” he said almost before the words had left Lily’s mouth. “I don’t mind playing Beater, it’ll be fun to be better than George at his own thing.”  
  
“In your bloody dreams, dragon boy,” George piped up.  
  
“Mum? Dad?” Lily said, looking from one to the other.  
  
“I’m in,” Harry said promptly. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be out-flown by my sons, but it’ll be a laugh all the same.”  
  
“I don’t know…” Ginny began.  
  
There was a chorus of disbelief around the table.  
  
“Oh, go on, Gin, it’s about time we reminded these youngsters that they’re not the only ones who can play,” Angelina chimed in.  
  
“Come on, Mum, you’re one of the best players around!” Albus agreed. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”  
  
“I don’t think I’m anything any more, Al, I haven’t played since you were a kid,” Ginny pointed out.  
  
“You’ve played more recently than most of the rest of us,” Ron pointed out, gesturing at himself and his brothers. “If anyone’s going to look like a fool, it’ll be us. Well, Charlie, to be more precise. I’m not sure there’s a broomstick that’ll hold him these days.”  
  
“Fighting talk already, Ronnie poo?” Charlie smirked. “Don’t you go forgetting you’ll have two brothers with Beater bats on the same pitch as you, I’d watch your step if I were you. You’ve got to play, Gin, someone needs to put Ron in his place.”  
  
“But…” Ginny hesitated. “What if I’m rubbish? It’s alright for you guys, Quidditch was only ever a hobby for you all. It was my career for years, can you imagine how embarrassing it’ll be if I go out there and can’t do it?”  
  
“Nonsense,” Harry said straight away, “you’ll put the rest of us to shame. Besides, we’ve got time to practice.”  
  
“Please, Mum,” James said. “I’ve never played with you _or_ Dad, and all I heard during my career was comparisons to you two. It’ll be fun to see if they were true.”  
  
“Can you think of anything worse than to be outplayed by your own sons?” Ginny said dramatically.  
  
“Well let’s face it, Roxie’s going to absolutely trounce me,” Angelina said frankly, “so I see no reason why you should get off scot-free.”  
  
Ginny smiled ever so slightly.  
  
“Okay, I’ll do it,” she said, to cheers around the table, “but mark my words, Lily, if I get panned after this, I’ll always remember it was you who killed my career.”  
  
“Well, at least we know where Lily inherited the melodrama from,” George grinned. “How are we picking teams, Lil? Shall we pick names out of a hat?”  
  
“I’ve already drawn up teams, actually,” Lily said, “based on trying to balance out talent, putting couples up against each other and keeping James and Roxanne apart-”  
  
“Oh, good,” Angelina interjected, “at least I’ll stand a fighting chance.”  
  
“-but it’s open to change if people don’t like how I’ve done it,” Lily finished. “So, in one team I’ve got Mum, Roxie and Teddy as Chasers, Uncle Ron as Keeper, Al as Seeker and Uncle George and Ethan as Beaters. And in the other team, James, Aunt Angie and Brigid as Chasers, Hugo as Keeper, Dad as Seeker and Uncle Charlie and Freddie as Beaters.”  
  
“Oh,” said Brigid in a small voice. “Lil … I can’t play.”  
  
“What?” Lily said, bemused. “But … of course you can play. I _need_ you to play, Brie, or I haven’t got enough players.”  
  
“I know, and I’m really sorry, but you’ll have to find another Chaser, Lil. I really can’t play.” Brigid looked wretched.  
  
“But-”  
  
“We’ll find someone else,” Freddie chipped in before Lily could object again, “nobody will notice if we’ve roped in one extra person. Most families would be happy to be able to make up _one_ Quidditch team, let alone nearly two.”  
  
“Dora could play, her throwing’s coming along nicely-” Teddy began.  
  
“ _Absolutely_ not, don’t be ridiculous,” Victoire snapped, glaring at him. He grinned sheepishly, amid chuckles from around the table.  
  
“Hey, we can still make up two teams from this table,” James chipped in. He glanced at Lily, who nodded slightly, then looked round to the most silent figure at the table. “Scorpius, will you play Chaser?”  
  
There was a marked reaction at James’ words. Albus and Hugo both looked thunderstruck, and Ron also seemed rather taken aback. But Hermione, for one, was nodding in agreement, and Brigid, who had been looking sick to her stomach ever since she’d dropped her bombshell, seemed to relax slightly with relief. Rose, meanwhile, was positively beaming.  
  
Scorpius just seemed shocked.  
  
“Wha – _me_?”  
  
“Of course you,” James said matter-of-factly. “You played Chaser for Slytherin, we need another Chaser, it makes sense. Will you do it?”  
  
“It would really help me out if you could,” Lily wheedled.  
  
“I…” Scorpius glanced around the table, surely unable to ignore the unhappy expressions still on Albus and Hugo’s faces. “Well, if you’re sure…”  
  
“Of course we’re sure,” Harry said firmly.  
  
As with every families, the elders were of course always respected. But Harry seemed to have a knack of bringing everyone into line with ease – probably because nobody wanted to argue with the man who defeated Voldemort. At his words, Albus and Hugo both shifted slightly in their seats, but neither of them said anything. Ron, who had always seemed to accept Scorpius’ presence within the Weasley fold but had never seemed all that ecstatic about it, was now nodding as though the idea to substitute Scorpius for Brigid had been his idea in the first place.  
  
“Well, that’s settled,” said James, beaming. “So, now what?”  
  
“We should have team names,” Hugo piped up. “We can’t play a Quidditch match and not have proper team names.”  
  
“The Gryffins and the Dors,” Teddy said. “We’ll be the Gryffins, you lot can be the Dors.”  
  
“Absol-bloody-lutely not!” Harry complained. “That’s a rubbish idea, and you can’t just steal the good name from your own godfather! You can be Griffins, we’ll be the Lions.”  
  
“Hang on, you can’t take the lion for your team,” Teddy said, “we’ve got more Gryffindors on our team than you have on yours, we deserve the lion _more_ than you do!”  
  
“Well, you shouldn’t have dealt us a rubbish hand with your idea, then, should you?”  
  
“Oh, Merlin’s beard,” Ginny said. “I don’t know which one of you is worse. Teddy, stop arguing, a griffin would easily beat a lion in a fair fight anyway.”  
  
“Just you wait, little sister, just you wait,” Charlie said gleefully.  
  
“Oh dear,” sighed Nana Molly. “Lily, pet, did you really need to suggest this? You know what they’re all like with their competitiveness, they’ll be boasting and challenging each other for _months_ now.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Nana Molly, I’ll ban all Quidditch players from Sunday lunches for the rest of the year,” I said.  
  
“We need captains!” Roxanne proclaimed.  
  
Nana Molly’s head fell into her hands.  
  
“Hugo was captain most recently,” Freddie said, “you should captain our team.”  
  
“No way!” Hugo said. “James was my captain, I can’t be his now.”  
  
“Absolutely not,” James chimed in, “I’m not captaining my own father.”  
  
“Well, Angelina was _my_ Quidditch captain at Hogwarts,” Harry said.  
  
“And Charlie was mine,” Angelina added.  
  
“And I haven’t played in well over thirty years,” Charlie finished. “So you can count me out.”  
  
“I guess that leaves Scorpius, then,” Harry said, his eyes flashing with mirth.  
  
“That is definitely not happening,” Scorpius said hurriedly, with a nervous glance across the table towards Hugo.  
  
“Go on, Dad, you’re the obvious candidate,” James wheedled, to agreement from the rest of the table.  
  
“Oh, fine,” Harry sighed, “put all the pressure and responsibility on _my_ shoulders, why don’t you?” But he was grinning all the same. “So who’s my opposition captain?”  
  
George, Ron, Ginny, Ethan, Albus and Roxanne all looked around at each other blankly.  
  
“Well, I guess it’s you then, Ted,” Ron said simply.  
  
“What?” Teddy frowned. “Are you sure? I … what about you, Gin, are you sure you don’t want to captain?”  
  
“I am definitely _not_ captain material,” Ginny said firmly. “You’ll be the best at the job, you should take it.”  
  
A wicked grin spread across Teddy’s face.  
  
“So,” he said, “it’s Potter versus Lupin, is it?”  
  
“I think I can already sense Minerva McGonagall’s despair,” Grandpa Arthur sighed.  
  
***  
  
As always, it was almost a relief to see the family depart in dribs and drabs once lunch was over. It had been an exhausting few hours listening to the competitive banter over the Quidditch match, and I was genuinely considering banning the lot of them from the pub full stop just so I wouldn’t have to put up with them challenging each other for the next few months.  
  
Although I supposed I couldn’t really ban James, given this was his home. Perhaps that needed a rethink.  
  
But the Quidditch match, and all it entailed, was currently the least of my worries. I’d waited until James, Freddie and Harry had huddled together to discuss Quidditch tactics once more, then pulled Brigid to one side to talk to her before she left.  
  
“Are you okay?” I asked.  
  
“What?” Brigid frowned. “I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
“You tell me. I thought you’d be the first to agree to play, especially given the cause,” I said.  
  
She smiled weakly.  
  
“I’m sure my skills are better placed elsewhere. And Scorpius will do a good job. I think it will mean a lot to him to be involved.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“I’m fine, Carls, don’t worry about me.” She squeezed my hand, then headed off to join Freddie.  
  
I wasn’t remotely convinced.  
  
But my musings were interrupted as Scorpius joined me at the bar, looking troubled.  
  
“Why the long face?” I asked. “Here, have a Firewhisky.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
He smiled weakly, and knocked the liquid back in one. He played with the empty glass on the counter for a moment, and I waited for him to line his words up and get them out.  
  
“I shouldn’t have said yes to this Quidditch thing,” he said eventually.  
  
I blinked.  
  
“Why on earth not? They needed an extra player, and it makes sense to keep it in the family.”  
  
“Oh, come on, Carlotta, none of them think of me as family,” he said, wrinkling his nose.  
  
“Don’t be daft, of course they do,” I said. But I was uncomfortably aware that I had no evidence to back this up. As if to prove that point, Scorpius looked pointedly at my Weasley jumper.  
  
“Oh, they’ll get there in the end,” I said. I poured him another Firewhisky. “This Quidditch match will get them there, you’ll see. I guarantee you’ll have a jumper by the end of the year. And don’t worry about any of them making things _awkward_ , you know Hugo’s the only silly one in your team. Nobody else cares a jot about anything other than that you make Rose happy, and at the end of the day that’s all that matters.”  
  
“Oh, please. Albus still can’t stand me either. And he’s got every reason to hate me.”  
  
I frowned.  
  
“I wouldn’t say that a pre-teen tiff is enough to support an adult hatred,” I said.  
  
“But I was horrible to him, for no reason. If it was the other way round, I probably wouldn’t want him dating my cousin.”  
  
I hesitated.  
  
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to be malicious…”  
  
“Oh, I did,” he said darkly. He necked the second Firewhisky.  
  
“You know, I was really excited about going to Hogwarts,” he said suddenly. “I defy anyone who grew up in the wizarding world who says they weren’t looking forward to it. I mean, my dad never really talks about his time at school, and it’s not hard to imagine why, but my mum always used to tell me her fun stories. She told me that, no matter what house I was in, I would make some really good friends, that I’d have great fun, that I’d absolutely love every minute of it. And I was an idiot. I _believed_ her.  
  
“And then I got on the Hogwarts Express, and realised how naïve I’d been. I grew up surrounded by the kids of my parents’ friends, and they all idolised me because I was a Malfoy. We were an important family, their parents respected mine, and so the kids respected me. And I thought everyone at Hogwarts would, as well. But that couldn’t have been any further from the truth. Because outside my family’s social circle, Malfoy is a disgraced name these days. And from the moment I stepped on that train, I was shunned by virtually _everyone_ before they’d even bothered to get to know me. And it got even worse once I’d been Sorted into Slytherin. Blood prejudice doesn’t really have a place in society these days, but in the corners of the Slytherin common room you can still find the occasional thug, and they all assumed _I_ would be their leader, just because of my name.”  
  
It was as though the Firewhisky had loosened Scorpius’ tongue; I couldn’t remember a time when he’d said so much to me in one go.  
  
“And meanwhile, Rose and Albus had just started at Hogwarts as well, and everyone, all those people who were shunning me, were hero-worshipping them, because they were a Potter and a Weasley. And I _hated_ it. I know that to this day Rose gets pissed off when people care more about her name than who she is, and I would never try to undermine that, because I can only imagine that it must be horrible to be surrounded by people so fickle. But at least people _liked_ their parents. And the whole while, when they were being adored by kids who hadn’t even bothered to get to know them as their own people, _I_ was being judged because _my_ family were on the wrong side. And I know that Rose and Albus weren’t at fault, but at the time I directed all my hatred and jealousy towards them, because they were the easy targets.  
  
“And you know what the worst bit was? As much as I wanted to, as much as I tried, I just _couldn’t_ hate Albus. Because … all those people who wanted to be his friend, they only gravitated towards him in the first place because he was a Potter, but … they all realised they actually _liked_ him. It’s not possible to _not_ like Albus Potter. He’s clever, he’s funny, he’s good at Quidditch, even at school he had this charm about him that just made him likeable. And the girls all seemed to find him good-looking as well. I had absolutely _nothing_ on him. But I could tell he lacked confidence, he thought he was overshadowed by James, and his older cousins, and even Rose, who’s always been able to stand up for herself. So one day I … I took the piss out of his name. It was _stupid_ , I mean, look at my name! And I could tell his friends saw me for who I was, just some pathetic little eleven year old. But it seemed to bother him, and the few Slytherin lackeys who followed me around thought it was funny, and it made me feel a little better. So I carried on teasing him.  
  
“Rose always used to stand up for him, and I never dared go after Albus when she was around. She … she was _scary_ , back when we were at Hogwarts. But if she wasn’t around, I figured he was fair game. But the stupid thing was, after the first couple of times, I started to hate _myself._ I mean, what was I getting out of it? It wasn’t stopping anyone from being his friend, and if anything, it was making people dislike me even more. I was becoming the exact person they’d all thought I was in the first place. And then we all went home for the Christmas holidays, and someone clearly fed Albus a dose of courage, because the next time I saw him, instead of going bright red and staying quiet as he’d always done before, he came back with a retort about my middle name, and suddenly everyone was laughing at _me_ , and I knew the game was up. And I spent the rest of my time at Hogwarts being shunned, because I was that pathetic bully Malfoy. So yes, I did mean to be malicious. And I deserve every bit of his disapproval.”  
  
“Oh, _Scorp_ …” I was filled with pity for this poor, insecure boy who stood opposite me. I reached out and took his hand in mine, squeezing it tightly. “Don’t you go telling yourself you deserve anything Albus directs at you now. We all did stupid things when we were younger, most of us for far more trivial a reason than the pressures of a family’s bad reputation. I’m sure if you just _talked_ to Al about it, he’d understand and change his tune. I mean, it’s like you said, they’ve been in the same boat as you, just for the opposite reason. And look at Rose now, she doesn’t care any more.”  
  
“Yeah, well, _she_ hated me until a few years ago,” Scorpius said. “I remember, I bumped into her in one of the Ministry lifts, and I don’t even know where I found the courage, but I asked her out for a drink. I’d always had a bit of a thing for her at school, you see. She’s feisty, she fights for what she believes in, she sticks up for the people she loves … nobody in my family has ever really had that strong a drive, and I admired it in Rose, right from the start. So I asked her out, and she refused, and I asked her to just give me a chance, to hear me out. And she did, and … well, here we are.”  
  
“Well, try the same with Albus,” I suggested. “I mean, not _exactly_ the same, I’d recommend you keep your clothes on and don’t try to flirt with him.”  
  
“Yeah, thanks, I’ll take that advice on board,” Scorpius said dryly. “But even if he _did_ listen to me – and that’s a big ‘if’ – there’s still Hugo to worry about.”  
  
“Oh, well Hugo’s just being immature about it,” I said scornfully. “He’s trying to be all protective brother, and he’s just decided not to like you on principle. Honestly, if you’re worried about someone who shaves his girlfriend’s legs and feeds her canapés, you’ve got no hope.”  
  
“How do you know he shaves her legs?” Scorpius said, intrigued.  
  
“Oh, you can just tell,” I said. “Point is, he’s being ridiculous. If you ask me, the only people you need to worry about impressing, aside from Ron and Hermione, are Nana Molly, because if you do she’ll make you your favourite pudding three times a week, Ginny, because you don’t want to get on the wrong side of her Bat-Bogey Hexes, and Charlie, because he could set a dragon on you if he really wanted to.”  
  
Scorpius smiled weakly.  
  
“Not Harry?”  
  
“Oh, Harry’s a softie at heart, you haven’t got a thing to worry about with him. Trust me, you’ll get there. Albus will come round. And if he doesn’t,” I added in a threatening tone of voice, “I’ll be having some serious words with him.”  
  
The smile Scorpius gave me suggested he didn’t believe me in the slightest. _How rude_.


	7. siete

It wasn’t until Monday evening that I realised, to my alarm, that I hadn’t spoken to Mamá since New Years Day, over three weeks ago now. She hated when I didn’t call her regularly; it was bad enough that I wouldn’t let her visit me, let alone that she couldn’t even phone _me_ if she wanted to talk. When it came to communication, I held all the cards.  
  
Unfortunately, what with everything that had happened so far this year, I’d completely forgotten to make my weekly phone calls. So it was with a sense of dread that I made myself a large hot chocolate, with a spell placed on the mug by Kreacher to keep the liquid warm, shrugged my large winter coat on, and headed up the cobbles towards the village phone box.  
  
The phone box was, unsurprisingly, unoccupied when I reached it. I suspected I was the only person in the village to use it, and the students it had been installed for were all up at the school. I pulled the door open, slipped into the booth, fed a few Knuts into the coin slot, dialled Mum and Dad’s number, and settled back on the plush sofa as I waited for someone to answer the phone.  
  
The Hogsmeade phone booth was the source of probably my singular biggest moment of frustration towards the wizarding world. Some ingenious soul had placed an Undetectable Extension Charm on the booth, and bought a sofa and a couple of armchairs for it. When I first saw the booth, I couldn’t help but laugh (“it’s bigger on the inside!”).  
  
James had just looked at me as if I was an idiot to not realise what an Undetectable Extension Charm did.  
  
Bloody wizarding _heathens_.  
  
I’d considered asking if someone could turn it blue – it would have given the Muggleborns up at the castle no end of amusement, for one thing – but in the end I’d decided I couldn’t be bothered to look like an idiot. If Muggle Studies class was so useless that it didn’t teach magical folk about Muggle culture, then they deserved to miss out on all my references.  
  
But then the phone stopped ringing, and I heard my mother’s voice in my ear.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Mamá, it’s Carla,” I said, slipping into Spanish; Mamá liked it when we spoke her native language to her. She spoke marvellous English, but she liked to know we could still speak the language of her birthplace.  
  
“Carla, darling, how _are_ you? I was beginning to worry about you, we haven’t heard from you in weeks!”  
  
“I know, and I’m really sorry, it’s … it’s been pretty busy here,” I said, crossing my fingers as I spoke.  
  
“Oh, my darling, I miss you so. I’m not used to seeing you so little…”  
  
My heart felt as though it had turned to lead in my chest.  
  
“I know, Mamá, but I can’t help that Scotland is so far north…” I began.  
  
“I suppose we were spoiled when you lived in London,” she sighed.  
  
Oh, how easy it had been to visit Mamá and Daddy when I’d lived in London. Just a quick trip on the tube, then half an hour on the train from Waterloo, had gotten me well and truly into the heart of Surrey. But it didn’t _have_ to be any harder now. The Leaky Cauldron was only a couple of stops north of Waterloo on the Northern line, and so the trip to Surrey was in fact now shorter than it had been before.  
  
But that was with the help of the Floo network getting me to London in mere seconds, when it was supposed to take me at least three hours to get to London by plane, or _ten_ hours on the train. And this brought about its own problems.  
  
“Can’t you come and visit us soon, darling? Your father can pay for your flight, he can book it all for you…”  
  
“No, no, I can afford to pay for it, don’t worry, I could sort it all out,” I said hurriedly. The last thing I wanted was to be forced to take a bloody flight. “I could probably come down this weekend for a night or two, I’m sure I could arrange cover-”  
  
“One night? All that travel for just one night? It seems a bit silly, doesn’t it, dear? Why don’t you come for a week, I’m sure you deserve some time off. After all, you seem to be working so hard up there.”  
  
I hesitated.  
  
“Mamá, I’ve just had a week off over Christmas,” I said. “I don’t think I can really afford to take more time off…”  
  
It was a total lie. James would give me as much time off as I wanted. The trouble was, I suspected I’d feel pretty isolated if I were to spend a whole week in Surrey. Sure, I could visit Lily – I’d told Mamá that she worked at Whitehall, and it would be entirely legitimate for me to pop into London for lunch with her. And I could probably blag a visit to see Ginny as well. James had originally led me to believe his parents lived in the vicinity of London, to explain how he was able to visit them so easily. I’d fed this information to my parents, and hadn’t seen the need to correct it when it had emerged Harry and Ginny actually lived in Ottery St. Catchpole.  
  
But that was just about all I’d be able to _do_ , and even the second option would fall through if Mamá decided she wanted to come along as well. I could spend time with my siblings, and meet up with my old school friends for a drink – but it just didn’t feel the same any more. I couldn’t talk to them openly these days, and their lives seemed so far removed from mine, revolving as they did around Muggle London, while I was so immersed in wizarding Britain.  
  
It almost scared me, how out-of-sync I felt with the place I came from and the people I grew up with. I could go there for the weekend. But I didn’t think I could stay for a week.  
  
The trouble was, it wasn’t as simple as just telling Mamá I couldn’t take time off.  
  
“Well,” she said now, “what if your father and I come up to see you? We’d both _love_ to see where you work, and I’ve never been to Scotland-”  
  
“Oh, you’d hate it, Mamá,” I said, trying to sound like I was joking around with her. “You always say that _Surrey_ is too cold, and it’s much colder up here. Plus there’s so much snow up here now, it’ll be here until March, and there’s no point you visiting until it’s all melted.”  
  
“I’m sure I can handle a bit of snow to see you-”  
  
“Trust me, Mamá, it’s knee-high up here.” That wasn’t a lie. But snow wasn’t so much of a problem for wizards, who could just melt it away, and so the main street in Hogsmeade was snow and ice-free. “Look, I’ll come down for the weekend, really, I don’t mind travelling that far for a couple of days.”  
  
“Oh, but it seems like such a waste of money to only come for one night!” she objected. “Are you really sure you can’t stay for the week?”  
  
“I … I’ll have to ask, Mamá,” I said awkwardly.  
  
“Well, please do, because we miss you ever so much. Oh, and see if you can have a week in February as well, darling, your father’s booking Barcelona this week.”  
  
“I – Barcelona?”  
  
“Yes, for your Uncle Emilio’s birthday, remember?”  
  
How could I have forgotten? We _always_ went back to Barcelona for Uncle Emilio’s birthday; it was one of two family holidays we had in Mamá’s home city every year.  
  
“Juanita and Antonio are coming, and you _know_ how hard it is for Toni to get time off work,” she added.  
  
I gritted my teeth. Antonio worked in the financial sector in London, and for all Mamá talked about him, it was as though he ran the Bank of England. But it wasn’t like _her_ to make veiled hints at how successful my brother and sister’s careers were compared to mine; that was usually Dad’s area of expertise.  
  
“I’ll have to ask about February, but I can’t have time this month _and_ next. I’m the landlady, I can’t just keep swanning off; the other staff will get jealous.”  
  
Mamá sighed, now openly irritated.  
  
“Okay, just ask about February then. And perhaps your father and I will come to visit you in the spring, when the weather’s nicer-”  
  
“I really don’t know why you’d want to come up here, Mamá,” I said, trying not to sound desperate. “All I do is stand behind a pub counter all day, and there’s not all that much around for you and Dad to do-”  
  
“Carlotta, your father thought that this move was a terrible thing for you to do,” Mamá interrupted me, sounding pretty upset by now. “And I could see his point; you had a job in a well-respected restaurant in London, you could have really progressed there, and instead you chose some little village pub in the far north of Scotland? I tried to support you, Carlotta, I really did, even if it _did_ seem like you were just blindly following James – whose prospects have always seemed pretty meagre, if you ask me – but I’m reaching the end of my tether with you. You won’t come to visit us, but you won’t let us come to see you, and you can’t even give me a telephone number to call you on! What am I supposed to do, Carlotta?”  
  
“Mamá, I-”  
  
There was a dull _clunk_ , as she hung up.  
  
“Mamá,” I said to the telephone booth, “I can’t tell you about magic, and you can’t even _see_ where I bloody live!”  
  
I slammed the phone back into its cradle, and buried my head in my hands, gripping my hair tightly.  
  
I didn’t know what the hell to do.  
  
***  
  
I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the evening. My mind was absolutely all over the place. After I’d broken my third glass of the evening Lauren sent me upstairs to bed, clearing up the mess with a simple wave of her wand.  
  
I didn’t get into bed – it seemed pretty pointless given I was hardly going to be able to sleep. Instead, I made another huge mug of hot chocolate, and settled down in front of the TV in the lounge to watch the replay of England’s Quidditch World Cup semi-final.  
  
Despite the fact we’d gone on to win the final, England’s game against Peru was my favourite to watch back, because it was the game in which James had been Player of the Match. It was, hands down, the best performance I’d seen him give in the six month period I’d been able to watch, and I knew he considered it to be the best match he’d ever played. It truly was wonderful to be able to look back on a time in his life which had given him so much joy and satisfaction, and to remember having watched it from the stands.  
  
But watching it now was just making me feel more frustrated. I could hear Mamá’s voice in my head, telling me about James’ _meagre prospects_ … little did she know about the World Cup Winners’ medal that hung above the fireplace, or the England robes he’d played the final in, signed and framed and hung on the wall in the pub downstairs. Or about all the Hogwarts students who so appreciated the one-on-one training he gave them…  
  
I got to my feet abruptly, causing Cecilia, who’d been nestled in my lap, to squeal indignantly as she landed on the floor. I picked her up and ran my fingers through her fur; she chirped happily and nibbled at my fingers.  
  
I headed to the mantelpiece, still cradling Cecilia, and picked up my favourite of all the photographs that lined the shelf. Lily had taken the photo, of James and I both holding the World Cup, his other arm slung round my shoulders. As I watched, photo-James pulled my photographic self close and planted a kiss on my cheek.  
  
I smiled, looking along to the other photographs. There was me with Brigid and Roxanne at Brigid and Freddie’s wedding, Brie in her stunning white wedding dress, and Roxanne and me in our pink bridesmaid dresses. Another photo from the same day, this time me and Brigid with James and Freddie. Then a photograph of me and James with Albus and Lily, taken in Venice; Harry and Ginny had surprised the four of us by taking us out for dinner in Italy one night. There was one photograph on the mantel that didn’t feature me; it was of James, with the rest of the Falmouth Falcons squad, holding the Quidditch League Cup, taken after the last game he had ever played with them.  
  
And then my eyes fell on the one photo in the whole flat that didn’t move. Mamá, Dad, Juanita, Antonio and me, in Barcelona two summers ago. Taken a week after James had become a World Cup winner, and just before I’d moved into his London flat with him.  
  
I’d known that moving to Hogsmeade would make things difficult. I just hadn’t realised _how_ complicated it would all be. Had I been a complete idiot? Here I was, cutting ties with the Muggle world, with my _home_ , and yet all the while I was stockpiling Muggle money and refusing to let myself get in too deep with James. I couldn’t do _both_. If I was going to stay here, in Hogmeade, keeping my parents in the dark about where I was and who James really was, I had to do this properly. Otherwise, I was tearing myself into two for no good reason.  
  
I wiped a stray tear furiously from my cheek.  
  
“Cece, I have to go to Barcelona,” I said to my pink ball of fluff. “I have to keep my family happy. I love them, and I don’t want to lose them.”  
  
Cecilia replied with a squeak that told me she wanted food.  
  
“Oh, fine, if it shuts you up,” I sighed, and carried her into the kitchen.  
  
The only real solution to this, I considered as I made Cecilia a cheese sandwich, was to tell my parents about magic. The trouble was, I didn’t think that was a realistic option. For a start, I’d have to get permission from the Ministry of Magic to break the Statute of Secrecy. The fact I was the pub landlady would possibly sway things in my favour, given that I now lived in a village my parents couldn’t even see. The trouble was, I was a Muggle who wasn’t supposed to know about the wizarding world in the first place. And I knew the Ministry wouldn’t like a trail of Muggles knowing about magic.  
  
Besides, even if I _was_ allowed to tell Mamá and Dad about magic, from that point on they’d be followed by the Obliviators and never left alone. I knew all too well about the file the Ministry had on me. They knew things about me that even James didn’t know, things that seemed so mundane, and I expected they already knew every word of the phone conversation I’d just had with Mamá. I couldn’t put my parents in that position, and tell them about something they could never repeat to anyone else.  
  
But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was, I had no idea how they would react if I told them about magic. And it was that unknown that scared me the most.  
  
The sound of clattering footsteps up the staircase alerted me of James’ arrival. I heard him drop his cloak on the floor in the hall, then crash into the bedroom and fall onto the bed.  
  
“Long day?” I called out to him.  
  
“I retire!” he replied melodramatically.  
  
“You’d be bored within a week,” I pointed out.  
  
“Mmm, I’d get some sleep though.”  
  
Cecilia was hoovering up the last few crumbs from her sandwich. I picked her up, and carried her into the bedroom.  
  
James was sprawled flat out across the bed on his back, his eyes closed. I swallowed a laugh, and threw Cecilia onto his stomach.  
  
He let out a yelp and opened his eyes in surprise, but that was nothing compared to Cecilia’s indignant wail as she landed with a thud on top of him. I laughed, and fell onto the bed next to them, propping my head up on my upturned palms.  
  
“What’s got you so tired, then?” I asked, as James absent-mindedly twirled a stray curl of my hair round his finger.  
  
“Duelling Club,” he sighed. “The kids wanted a demonstration. Well, Neville’s one of the best duellers I know, after Dad and Uncle Ron, and I hardly wanted to look like an idiot in front of all the students, so I absolutely ran myself ragged. I nearly thought I might have had him half beaten once, but he’s _damn_ good.”  
  
“Sounds like you need more practice,” I said cheekily.  
  
“Probably. It’s alright, I’ll practice on you.” He tapped my nose. “How are my favourite girls today?”  
  
I sighed, my head falling onto the mattress.  
  
“Mamá’s mad at me,” I said. “I told her I can’t visit her for more than a weekend, and then I told her she can’t visit me, and then she said your prospects are rubbish.”  
  
“I can see her point, teaching is a criminally underrated profession,” James said.  
  
I punched him lightly in the arm.  
  
“You’re an idiot.”  
  
“I know.” He paused. “Why can’t you visit for more than a weekend?”  
  
“Oh, _Merlin_ , I’d be bored stiff in Guildford. I’d be stuck in the Muggle world for a whole _week_. What the hell would I do?”  
  
“It’s okay, sweetpea, you can say you’d miss me.” James smirked, and reached an arm out to pull me closer to him.  
  
“Oh, shut up, you bigheaded oaf.”  
  
“Truth hurts, babycakes. Why don’t you just go down for a weekend?”  
  
“Mamá will tell me to stay for longer. She thinks I’ll have to go to the hassle of flying down, and I can hardly tell her I travelled by fire, can I?”  
  
James sighed.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“ _Sorry_?” I lifted my head up to look him in the eye. “What are you on about?”  
  
“Well, I talked you into this whole thing in the first place. I just hate to think that it’s my fault you’re in this situation.”  
  
“Don’t be daft. It was my decision, not yours.” I thought back to all those photos on the mantelpiece, all the memories they represented. “And I don’t regret it one bit.”  
  
“I’m glad.” He kissed my forehead. “Maybe you _should_ go down for a week, though.”  
  
“Well, Mamá mentioned Barcelona just before she hung up on me,” I said. “I can’t believe I forgot, we’ve been going to Barcelona in February for as long as I can remember. So maybe that will appease her in the short-term, and I just have to try to visit them more regularly in future in hopes that it stops them trying to visit _me_.”  
  
“Why don’t you tell them?” James said gently.  
  
“I can’t,” I sighed. “There would be too much hanging on it, and even if they accepted it, it would put too much pressure on them. They’re better off not knowing. At least for now, anyway.”  
  
“Well, it’s your decision,” he said, stroking my hair. “When are you going to Barcelona?”  
  
“I don’t know, Mamá didn’t say. I’ll have to phone her tomorrow and ask about it. I’ll be meek and apologetic and hopefully she calms down.”  
  
“Meek is the last word I’d use to describe you,” he murmured.  
  
“I thought you were tired? Shut up and go to sleep.”  
  
***  
  
“So, I’ve made some more plans for the match,” Lily said, spreading several sheets of paper across the bar counter.  
  
“Does the Prime Minister have any paper left?” I asked.  
  
“He won’t miss it. You should see his stationary budget. Anyway, the _Quidditch match_. I’ve talked to Professor McGonagall and she’s agreed that we can hold the match at Hogwarts, and she thinks it should be played at the end of the Easter holidays – it’ll hopefully be nice enough weather by then, but the exams won’t yet have started so it won’t be too much of a distraction. It’s far enough away to have enough time to organise things, but not too far away. The only trouble is the League season will have started by then, and I need Roxanne to be able to play, especially now Brigid’s backed out.”  
  
“Yeah, about that … don’t you think it’s a bit weird?” I frowned. “I mean, this is for charity, I would have thought she of all people would have said yes. It kind of felt like she was throwing you under the bus.”  
  
Lily shrugged.  
  
“She had her reasons. Besides, Scorpius was willing to jump in, so it was all fine in the end. I expect she’s just scared of embarrassing herself. I mean, her brother’s a European Cup winner and a four times League Cup winner, her mum won two World Cups, there’s a lot of pressure there. If anything, she’s in a worse situation than Mum is. I mean, I think Mum will be brilliant, but if she’s _not_ … well, she’s been out of the game for years, she’s had three kids, none of us are going to think any worse of her if she’s not as good as she was when she played for the Harpies, or if she’s not as good as James. But … Ryan’s still playing, and Brie’s probably scared that people will expect her to play at the level he plays at. And if she doesn’t feel comfortable about playing, then who am I to make her?”  
  
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, feeling uncomfortable myself.  
  
“Yeah, okay, I see your point. So, what _are_ you going to do about Roxie?”  
  
“Well I can’t do anything until they announce the fixtures. Hopefully, there’s a free weekend around the time I want to play the match. If not … well, I guess I’ll have to beg Sinead to let me have her. Which I’m not confident about. But there’s no point worrying about it. What I _do_ need to worry about is what robes they wear. I thought maybe we could have red and gold, to stick with the Gryffindor theme…”  
  
“Poor Scorp,” I said.  
  
Lily pulled a face.  
  
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” I said. “Well … how should I choose?”  
  
“Why don’t you let them choose?” I suggested.  
  
“Ooh, I like that idea.” She scribbled a note on one of her pieces of paper. “Okay, so next up is the programme-”  
  
“The _programme_?”  
  
“There has to be a programme! I thought we could have a little piece on each of the players, maybe written by an ex-teammate … so we could get Ryan to write about James, and Della to write about Roxie, and one of Mum’s Harpy teammates to write about her … we might begin to run out of Gryffindor teammates though, at one point James, Al, Freddie, Roxie, Hugo and Brie were all on the same team. It was a commentator’s nightmare. Mind you, the commentator was Louis, so … anyway, maybe I should have to pick some people who played against them at school instead. Or, maybe _they_ could pick who writes about them?”  
  
“Lil, are you sure you’re not putting too much thought into this?” I said tentatively.  
  
She glared at me.  
  
“Of course I’m not! This is a _fundraiser_ , Carla, we need to make money somehow! Besides, people will be expecting merchandise, there’s always merchandise at special Quidditch matches. I can put in an article about the Foundation, and I can maybe sell a couple of advert spots to cover the printing costs…”  
  
“And how much will _that_ be?”  
  
“Oh, Xenophilius Lovegood has said he’ll run them all off for free with his printing press,” Lily said, “but I’m going to need to pay for the parchment and the ink, obviously. It shouldn’t cost too much, I’d anticipate advertising costs would cover the supplies and leave me with money to spare.”  
  
“Why don’t you talk to the stationary shop in Diagon Alley?” I suggested. “They might provide you with the parchment and ink for free in return for an advertising slot.”  
  
“Oh! Yeah, that’s a good idea…” Lily scribbled another note to herself.  
  
“How much are the tickets?” I asked as she wrote.  
  
“I’m thinking three Galleons a head for adults, and two for under-eighteens,” she said. “I’ll get the _Prophet_ and the WWN to report about it, but I don’t know how to sell the tickets. I guess I could sell them in evenings…”  
  
“Lil,” I said soothingly, “don’t you think you’re letting this stress you out a bit too much? Just slow down and _think_ for a moment. Now, I don’t want to speak for Hannah, but I can certainly sell tickets here, and I’ve no doubt she’ll say yes as well. And you should talk to James as well, he might be able to sell tickets up at the school for you, or – no, wait, you should see about getting a few students involved in ticket-selling up there instead, the kids will be way more likely to get behind it if it’s their peers drumming up interest.”  
  
Lily just stared at me as though I’d sprouted a second head.  
  
“That’s an amazing idea! I’d never have thought of that … listen, will you do me a huge favour?”  
  
“Er…”  
  
“Can you help me organise this?”  
  
“I – what?”  
  
“Oh, Carla, I’m absolutely drowning in this Foundation stuff, I can’t think straight right now! Hodrod at Gringotts is handling the finances, but aside from that it’s me and Thaddeus doing this on our own, and Thad has six students now, he’s barely got any free time. I’m having to deal with how to get money in and what we’re spending it on and talks with the Ministry and the Department of Education about setting up an official school for Squibs, and we’ve got all sorts of enquiries coming in from abroad as well, and…” She let out a huge sigh. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any Heidelberg mead, have you?”  
  
“Don’t you have to go back to work this afternoon?” I said, amused.  
  
“Oh, they all go to the pub down the road for a pint at lunch time, they can bugger off with their judgement,” Lily said firmly as I grabbed a bottle of mead and two glasses from under the counter. “So, will you help me?”  
  
“I don’t really know how to organise a Quidditch match,” I said slowly, pouring the mead out. “But I’ll help with the advertising and ticket selling if you want…”  
  
“Oh, that would be a _huge_ help,” said Lily, looking relieved. “Don’t worry about the actual Quidditch side of things, I’m hoping it will sort itself out, and any other stuff I’ll leave to Dad and Teddy. You’re right, they can choose their robes and stuff like that. Oh, thank you _so_ much, you have no idea how much of a weight this is off my shoulders…”  
  
“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s what I’m here for.” I smiled. “And if you think you need an extra pair of hands when it comes to _anything_ Foundation related, then I’ll help where I can. Turns out running a pub puts you in a pretty central position in society, I have _influence_ these days. Okay, probably only over the reprobate Hogwarts students and the drunken portion of society, but it’s something at least.”  
  
Lily grinned, and took a large swig of mead.  
  
“It’s a start, isn’t it?” she said. “I guess I’d better keep an eye on you, it’ll be world domination you’re plotting next.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” I assured her, “I’ll make you my deputy.”  
  
Lily raised her glass.  
  
“To running the world,” she toasted.  
  
***  
  
It was with some trepidation that I headed back to the phone box that night to call home and apologise to Mamá. But it wasn’t Mamá who picked up.  
  
“Carlotta,” came my Dad’s usually warm, friendly voice; right now he sounded anything _but_ friendly. “I’m glad you’ve called; I wanted to talk to you.”  
  
“Daddy, I-”  
  
“I’ve booked Barcelona for next month,” he interrupted me. “I’ve booked a plane ticket for you, and I expect you to come. No ifs, no buts. And we’ll talk about this nonsense next time we see you. Your mother is very upset, she thinks you’re deliberately obstructing her attempts to see you, and if I’m honest with you, that’s what it seems like to me as well.”  
  
“But Daddy, it’s not like that-”  
  
“I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone,” he said firmly. “Now, do I have your word that you’ll come to Barcelona?”  
  
“I – yes, of course, I-”  
  
“Good. I’ll let your mother know, she’ll be happy to hear it.”  
  
And before I could say any more, he’d ended the call.  
  
I rolled my eyes, setting the phone back in its cradle. My parents could really be immature at times.


	8. ocho

“So, this is new,” Connor said, settling himself down on one of the bar stools.  
  
“What is, being in Hogsmeade with permission?” I said, raising an eye brow.  
  
“Yeah, that too,” he admitted, as Roscoe, Isaac and Sebastian joined him at the counter. “It’s not often we actually get a teacher’s permission to do anything these days, let alone leave the castle after curfew.”  
  
“It’s as though they don’t trust us,” Isaac lamented.  
  
“Hmm, imagine that,” I said.  
  
And sure enough, James was right next to me, leaning back on the counter, with strict instruction from Neville to make sure the four boys _only_ visited me, and headed straight back to the castle afterwards.  
  
He’d given me an odd look when I’d suggested them as my Hogwarts liaisons. And it wasn’t hard to see why; they were serial troublemakers up at the school. But they were the students I knew best – partly because of all their illicit trips to the village – and I knew they were all good kids at heart. They liked Quidditch, they were well-liked and respected amongst their peers up at the school, and I suspected a little bit of responsibility wouldn’t hurt them.  
  
“I’ve got a little job for you boys,” I said, pushing four tankards of hot Butterbeer across the counter. “Well, I say little, it’s a pretty important job. But I think you’re the best guys for it.”  
  
“Go on,” Roscoe said, taking his tankard with what seemed to be disappointment. He had no chance; I wasn’t serving them Firewhisky under James’ nose.  
  
“James’ sister Lily is arranging a little Quidditch match for her Foundation,” I said. “James is going to be playing in it, and so are a lot of his family. It’s pretty much a massive Weasley-fest. It’s going to be played up at Hogwarts, and we’re going to sell tickets for it. And that’s where you four come in. I’ll be selling tickets, but I need people up at the school to be my eyes and ears, to sell tickets to the students, to advertise it, to generally hype it up. And you’re my boys for the job.”  
  
“Sounds interesting,” Sebastian said. “When is it?”  
  
“The date’s not settled yet, Lily needs to make it a weekend when Roxanne can play, if possible,” I said. “But somewhen around Easter. As soon as the date’s settled, we’ll be issuing the tickets. But we can start hyping it up now. Do you boys think you can do that for me?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Connor said confidently, as the other boys nodded. “We’ve got this, Carla.”  
  
“How much are the tickets?” Roscoe asked.  
  
“Two Galleons each for all you lot,” I said. “And no charging people more and making a profit,” I added sternly.  
  
“You really should have been in Slytherin, with ideas like that,” Isaac said. “Don’t worry, we will be completely honest and transparent in all our dealings.”  
  
“Good to hear it,” I said, trying to keep a smile from spreading across my face. “Oh, and make sure the kids all tell their parents about it as well, we want whole families turning out. This is all for a good cause, so we want everyone digging into their pockets.”  
  
“Oh, we’ll make them all dig,” Connor said. “So who’s in the teams?”  
  
“This is all the information we’ve got so far,” I said, handing them a piece of parchment with the two teams on it, the team names as headings at the top. “As soon as I find out the date, and the colours they’re playing in, I’ll let you know.”  
  
“Ooh, that’s interesting,” Roscoe said, as they all leaned in to compare the teams. “Yeah, I like the match-ups, it’s going to be a pretty even contest-”  
  
“Excuse me?” James cried. “I’m going to kick my mother’s ass, thank you! I mean-”  
  
“It’s okay, Prof, you don’t need to pretend you’re all mature and respectable in front of us,” Connor reassured him. “And besides, you won’t win if your brother plays as well as he did for Gryffindor; in his last year I don’t think a single game lasted more than ten minutes.”  
  
“Oh Merlin, that would be a damp squib of a match,” James said, his face falling. “Dad and Al are both awesome Seekers, _one_ of them is going to catch the Snitch pretty quickly.”  
  
“What if you don’t let them onto the pitch for an hour or so?” Isaac suggested.  
  
“I think people would be pretty miffed if they didn’t get to see much of Harry Potter,” I pointed out.  
  
“Okay, here’s an idea,” Sebastian spoke up. “What if the Snitch capture doesn’t end the match, but it wins a team, say … fifty points? Then whoever’s caught it, releases it again, and the game continues, and the first team to reach five hundred points wins? That way, we all get to see a few Snitch captures, and a lot of goals.”  
  
James stared at Sebastian for a moment, looking impressed.  
  
“I really like that idea,” he said.  
  
“‘Fifty points to Ravenclaw’ like it?” Sebastian suggested.  
  
“Don’t push your luck,” James said, doing a worse job than me of hiding his amusement. “And just so you boys know, this still doesn’t give you permission to come down to Hogsmeade outside normal visiting times, unless you have a signed note from Professor Longbottom. So no trying to rope me or Carlotta into getting you out of trouble next time you get caught. Or, even better, don’t get caught.”  
  
“That’s more like it,” Roscoe said. “Strict and authoritative really doesn’t suit you, Prof.”  
  
“It is a sad and unfortunate responsibility that comes with my job,” James said. “But I’m not about to shirk that responsibility, because I actually _like_ my job.”  
  
“What, even the bit where you have to try to teach idiots who can’t even sit on a broomstick the right way round?” Connor said scornfully.  
  
“Some students are more challenging than others,” James admitted. “That Gryffindor team, they’re all right pains whenever I have to give them coaching.”  
  
“Yeah, I see what you did there,” Roscoe said, as Isaac and Sebastian laughed. “Real clever, Prof, real smooth.”  
  
“I thank you,” James said, sinking into a bow. “Anyway, I think that’s all Carla has to tell you for now, so you guys had better get back up to the school before McGonagall has my hide.”  
  
“I think you mean _Professor_ McGonagall,” Isaac reprimanded. “Honestly, have some respect for your superiors.”  
  
“I could tell you the same thing,” James retorted, smirking all the same. “Go on, scram. And don’t go stopping off anywhere else en route, I’ve got eyes and ears all over this village and I’ll know if you’ve stopped in the Hog’s Head for a Firewhisky.”  
  
“Besides, if you _do_ stop for Firewhisky and the school finds out, I’ll be the one the Headmistress skins,” I added.  
  
The boys had had unconvincingly innocent expressions on their faces, but now they looked positively horrified.  
  
“Don’t you worry, Carly, we’ll head straight back to school,” Isaac said firmly.  
  
“Yeah, we won’t get you into trouble,” Connor added reassuringly.  
  
“I’m not sure what to think about you guys having more respect for your local landlady than your own teacher,” James sighed, “but at least you want to keep _one_ of us out of trouble.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I figured you’ve had enough practice at trying to get yourself out of trouble with McG, you don’t need help.”  
  
“And if you _do_ need help,” Roscoe added, “it means you need more practice.”  
  
“Okay, and on that note, you boys can scram now,” James said, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes before I tell your Heads of House you should be back, and if you’re not in your common rooms by then, it is _not_ my problem.”  
  
Isaac cocked his head to one side.  
  
“You really _are_ getting authoritative in your old age, Prof,” he said. “It’s fine, we can take a hint. Come on boys, cough up for your Butterbeers, I’m not paying for you lot-”  
  
“No need, they’re on the house,” I said, waving an airy hand.  
  
“Really?” Sebastian said, having just thrust his hand into his pocket.  
  
“Yeah, _really_?” James said, looking round at me.  
  
“Thanks, Carls, you’re the best,” Roscoe said.  
  
And with that, the four of them traipsed out of the pub.  
  
“This,” James said firmly, “is a terrible idea.”  
  
***  
  
“And then you fold this bit over like this – and you just broke its wing.”  
  
“But swans are _boring_. Can’t we make a peacock?”  
  
“I don’t know how to make a peacock, sweetie,” I said, trying not to let my inner frustration leak out into my tone of voice.  
  
“But mummy can make a peacock,” Remus said petulantly.  
  
“I’m sure she can, but I don’t know how to make one with my hands, and I can’t do magic.”  
  
“Why can’t you do magic?” Remus cocked his head to one side, grabbing the injured swan and completely pulling it apart.  
  
I was _never_ babysitting again.  
  
“Because I’m a Muggle, and Muggles can’t do magic,” I explained. “Don’t you want to go and play outside with Dora?”  
  
“She doesn’t let me fly on her broomstick,” Remus pouted.  
  
“Well, that’s because you’re too young for her broomstick,” I explained, “but in a couple of years, once you’re bigger-”  
  
“Did you go to Hogwarts?” he interrupted, now busy folding the napkin into a concertina pattern.  
  
“No, because only magical people can go to Hogwarts-”  
  
“So how did you meet James?”  
  
I faltered. I imagined Victoire wouldn’t be too happy if I told her son that I met James by getting insanely drunk and sleeping with him after his cousin had picked up my friend.  
  
“We met in the restaurant that I used to work at,” I told Remus. That sounded _much_ more child-friendly. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to play outside?”  
  
“Can Cecilia come and play?”  
  
I held back a sigh.  
  
“Yes, but only if you put her in her run, or she’ll get out of the garden, and James will be very upset if that happens-”  
  
“Thank you Carla!”  
  
Remus hugged me tightly round the legs, then ran through the door to the upstairs flat, thundering up the staircase like a herd of elephants.  
  
“Christ on a bike, Potter, why do _I_ always end up babysitting your godchildren?” I muttered under my breath, grabbing the napkin that Remus had been playing with and throwing it into the laundry bin.  
  
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t _always_ me. In fact, Dominique, with a one-year-old of her own, was usually Victoire’s first port of call. But Dominique and Leah were spending the day with Ethan’s family, and Nana Molly was at some sort of knitting society, and even Teddy’s grandmother Andromeda was busy. And given I was one of the only family members whose job was remotely compatible with also watching children, I looked after Dora and Remus fairly frequently – thus far I hadn’t worked out how to say no to Victoire and Teddy.  
  
“Next time,” I continued to myself, as I busied myself washing tankards in the sink, “they can go and bake cakes with Aunt Ginny.”  
  
I didn’t know why Victoire hadn’t taken them to Ginny’s house in the first place. Maybe it was because she figured I was practically Dora and Remus’ godmother – which I disagreed with – or perhaps she liked the thought of James and me spending time together with small kids. Frankly, the implications of that scenario and all the thought processes that led off it just scared me.  
  
A second clattering sound warned me that Remus was on his way back downstairs, and sure enough, moments later he hurtled back past me, Cecilia chirping away happily in his arms.  
  
“It’s okay,” I muttered, “three hours and I can give them back.”  
  
“Are you opening a crèche now?”  
  
I gritted my teeth – even with my back to the bar counter, I could tell from the lilting tone of voice that Ryan Murphy was smirking.  
  
“You know,” I said, turning to face him, “Dora’s out there practicing her shooting, you could always trot on out there and help her?”  
  
“Ah, that’s Jimmy’s gig, I wouldn’t want to tread on his toes.” Ryan winked, and I couldn’t keep the smile from my face any more. “So how’s it going with the terrible twosome?”  
  
“Oh, it’s not _so_ bad, all Dora needs is her broomstick and her Quaffle and she’s happy. Remus is another story, although I think I’ve just won myself twenty minutes of peace.”  
  
“Yeah, he’s Teddy’s son all over,” Ryan grinned. “Just sneak a drop of sleeping draught into his pumpkin juice, that’ll calm him down.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure Victoire would _love_ that,” I said dryly.  
  
“Well, she wouldn’t need to know, would she?”  
  
“How would she _not_ know?”  
  
“Teddy does it all the time.” Ryan shrugged.  
  
“ _Really_?”  
  
“Yeah, next time you think he’s the model of parental perfection, check what’s in Remus’ evening milk.”  
  
“I was beginning to wonder how he did it,” I confessed. “Do you want a Butterbeer? Or do you fancy something stronger?”  
  
Ryan pulled a face.  
  
“Better not, Mum’ll hex me.”  
  
“I’m sure she’s not _that_ scary-”  
  
“Until you’ve been coached or parented by her, you’re not allowed to have an opinion on that. I’ll take the Butterbeer, thanks. So, what did you want to see me about?”  
  
“Lily had a fundraising idea,” I began. “It involves a load of Weasleys and Quidditch.”  
  
“Oh. _Oh_.” Ryan took the tankard of steaming hot Butterbeer. “Thanks. So I’m guessing she’s taken the phrase “enough kids for a Quidditch team” and made it literal?”  
  
“You would be correct,” I said, pulling up my stool and taking a seat opposite him, cupping my hands around my own Butterbeer. “It’s quite impressive actually, she’s had to pull Scorpius in, but aside from that it’s all family members and spouses. And I guess Scorpius sort of counts as a minor spouse anyway.”  
  
“Really? I would have thought she’d have been drowning in Quidditch players even without Scorpius.”  
  
“She had fourteen, but your sister pulled out. Any idea why?”  
  
I watched for Ryan’s reaction closely, in case he knew something I didn’t, but the only expression on his face was one of surprise.  
  
“ _Brie_ said no? I don’t get why she wouldn’t want to play…”  
  
“Lil thought it might be because she’s intimidated by you,” I suggested.  
  
Ryan frowned.  
  
“Really? That’s daft, she’s … well, I never really got to see her play much, I mean we never played together, she only joined the Gryffindor team after I left, she replaced me … and she _could_ have joined the team earlier, there was a tryout when Emily Wood left, Roxanne took the spot, but Brie never tried for it…” His face crumpled. “Don’t tell me my sister’s scared about being a worse Quidditch player than me and I never knew about it, that just makes me the worst brother ever-”  
  
“No it doesn’t,” I said hurriedly, feeling _beyond_ guilty for making him feel bad. “I’m sure that’s not it at all, she’s probably just got a lot on her plate and doesn’t have any time to practice Quidditch. Anyway, look, I was hoping you could help me with something, I’ve kind of promised Lily I’ll take care of the programme for this match, and she thought it would be a nice idea to have a feature on each of the players, written by an ex-teamate. Or maybe an ex-opponent, Lil did say some people might be short of non-familial teammates.”  
  
“Yeah, the Gryffindor team was sort of a Weasley-fest at one point, three Weasleys and two Potters. And a future-Weasley,” Ryan added in reference to Brigid. “So unless you want Jeremiah McLaggan writing pieces for your programme-”  
  
“No chance,” I said flatly. “Anyway, my first question was, would you take James? You obviously played loads together, and I know he really admires you and it would make him so happy-”  
  
“Course I will,” he said with a grin. “I’d love to, he was my favourite teammate. Don’t tell Della,” he added hurriedly.  
  
“Your secret is safe with me.” I winked. “Although speaking of Della, maybe she’d write a piece on Roxanne?”  
  
“I can tell you right now she’ll say yes, but I’ll ask her anyway so it looks like we haven’t decided for her.”  
  
I laughed.  
  
“Okay, and that’s where I grind to a halt,” I said. “I have no idea who else played Quidditch at Hogwarts, and as for the older guys, I’m completely stuck, I barely know any of their generation.”  
  
“Harry and Ginny are both playing, right?”  
  
“Of course they are, I don’t think anyone’s pretending they won’t be the biggest attraction after James and Roxanne.”  
  
Ryan grinned.  
  
“Lots of people were inspired to play by Ginny, and anything Harry does gets the wizarding nation excited. I don’t know much about previous Gryffindor teams, but I _do_ know that Ginny played Chaser for Gryffindor and the Holyhead Harpies with Demelza Robins – you know, the England coach? It’s well worth asking her if she’ll do something for your programme – Rose could help you out with that, she’ll be able to get in touch with her fairly easily. And as for Harry, go to Oliver Wood – Emily and Michael’s dad, he’s Puddlemere’s coach. He was Gryffindor Captain when Harry first made the team. They’re both still big names in the Quidditch world as well, and the more people you can name-drop when you’re promoting this, the better. Actually, now I think of it – is Teddy in this as well?”  
  
“Just work on the basis that if they played Quidditch, they’re playing this match,” I said dryly.  
  
“Right, get Em Wood in for Teddy.”  
  
I cocked my head to one side.  
  
“They played together?”  
  
“Yeah, they were my first Chaser teammates on the Gryffindor team, then James took Teddy’s spot when he left school. That was the start of the Weasley-fest, although it didn’t really kick off until a couple of years later, when Freddie, Roxanne and Al all made the team in the same year. That was my first gig as captain, and let me tell you, there’s nothing more terrifying than picking three people from the same family to join your team. There were calls of favouritism all over the place. Mind you, they soon shut the critics up. Ah, those were the days, Gryffindor were unbeatable for a good ten years or so. Course, it’s all come crashing down now we’ve all left. I keep telling James he shouldn’t be giving the other houses special coaching, no wonder Ravenclaw are trouncing everyone this year with him giving them advice.”  
  
“Quidditch really is special for you guys, huh?” I said.  
  
“If you haven’t worked that out by now, you’re in the wrong place,” Ryan said with a wink. “Anyway, other than that, I think you’re gonna have to look at ex-opponents, there was pretty much a Weasley monopoly on the Gryffindor team for years. You got Ethan as Beater?”  
  
“See aforementioned rule.”  
  
“Goldstein was my year at school, he was on the Gryffindor team for three years, and his Beater teammate for two of those was Freddie. That’s how he and Dominique met – I mean, sure, we were all in the same common room and everyone knew who the Weasleys were, but she was in the year below us and most of the time you don’t have much reason to know people in other years to you. But everyone knew the Quidditch team, and at one point me and Ethan were the only two players who weren’t gingers, so it all became a bit of a family affair.  
  
“But the point I was trying to make is that either you can write to the other Beaters who were on the Gryffindor team before Freddie and after Ethan, both of whom are relative unknowns in the world of Quidditch because they only played at Hogwarts, or you can rope in Beaters from other houses who played Quidditch against us and actually have recognisable names. And three of them happen to be my current teammates.”  
  
“Cato and Cleo and Jake,” I said slowly.  
  
“Yep,” Ryan said, sounding far too triumphant. “Jakey joined the Hufflepuff team at the same time Freddie joined our team. They had a bit of a rivalry going on for a good four years or so. Mostly friendly, but when Beater bats are involved you can never assume it’s going to remain non-violent. And you could pull Cato in to write about all the times he kicked Ethan’s ass. Mind you, Slytherin never won a game against us in all that time, so it didn’t get him anywhere in the end. As for Hugo and Albus … give me a couple of days on that, there are less Keepers and Seekers in the world. Am I missing anyone?”  
  
“Well, there’s Scorpius…” I said awkwardly.  
  
“Ah, yeah, he was on the Slytherin team for _years_. Runty little kid, but he wasn’t half bad with the Quaffle. Oh, there are loads of Chasers floating around who would have played against him. Quiggers and Sully, my Ireland teammates, they both played for Ravenclaw, or there’s little Ruby Ellerby, she’s pushing Roxie for an England spot at the moment, or Josh Wadcock, thank Merlin he’s shoved McLaggen out of national colours … tell you what, I’ll have a ring around and tell people to get in touch with you.”  
  
“Thanks, that would be a great help,” I said, beaming. “Oh, and can you do me a favour and not tell any of the guys about this? Me and Lily want it to be a surprise for them when they see the programme for the first time.”  
  
Ryan grinned.  
  
“Course I can,” he said. “Besides, the last thing I need is Junior knowing I’m writing a testimonial about him, he wouldn’t leave me alone about it.”  
  
“Make sure it’s all good stuff,” I warned.  
  
“Course it will be.” His grin grew. “Well, _mostly_ good stuff. When _is_ this match, anyway?”  
  
“Not decided yet, Lily’s working it all out,” I said. “But somewhen over Easter, on a spare weekend, at Hogwarts.”  
  
“Sounds ideal,” he said. “You’ll want to get the Hogwarts kids interested, they’ll get their parents to buy tickets as well-”  
  
“Already on it,” I said, “I’ve got my favourite troublemakers on the case.”  
  
“I don’t doubt you have.” He drained his Butterbeer. “Well, I’m looking forward to it, what with you and Lily involved it promises to be the event of the year.”  
  
“Should you be saying that, given your own event?” I said with a smile of my own.  
  
“What event? Oh, wait, the wedding.”  
  
“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” I topped up his tankard. “You’re clearly _very_ excited for it…”  
  
He pulled a face.  
  
“I’m not really involved in it, all I’ve got to do is turn up with my robes on and say ‘I do’, haven’t I?”  
  
“Again, I’ll feign ignorance on that.”  
  
“You think that was a bad thing to say?”  
  
“Absolutely,” I said. “It’s supposed to be the best day of your life, you should at least _pretend_ to be excited for it.”  
  
“I’m excited for the party, does that count?”  
  
“Here’s a tip for you,” I said. “If Della, or anyone else, for that matter, asks if you’re excited, you say absolutely, you can’t wait for the day when you can finally become one with the woman you love, and promise to devote the rest of your live to her happiness, and give up your entire being to her, and all that stuff.”  
  
Ryan cocked his head to one side.  
  
“Y’know,” he said, “I can’t work out if you’re incredibly romantic or hugely cynical.”  
  
“A healthy bit of both,” I said breezily. “But don’t tell James, it’ll shatter the illusion.”  
  
“That you’re a romantic or a cynic?”  
  
“I think he thinks I’m unbelievably cynical but that he’s restoring the romance to my life. For what it’s worth, I was a hopeless romantic before old age got to me.”  
  
“Well, Jim was a hopeless romantic until fame got to him, and then you restored him. You truly are meant to be.” Ryan smirked.  
  
“See that? That soppy romantic mush right there? _That’s_ the kind of thing you need to say to Della if you don’t want her leaving you at the altar.”  
  
“Do you give James this sort of life coaching?”  
  
“I did for a time, but then he eclipsed me and now he thinks he has to coach me through life. It’s the teaching gig, he forgets to turn off.”  
  
“Reckon he’d teach me how to do a Parkin’s Pincer if I asked nicely?” Ryan grinned wickedly.  
  
“I reckon he’d thump you one,” I said, feeling damn chuffed for knowing what a Parkin’s Pincer _was_. “Where _is_ Della, anyway? I thought you’d bring her with you.”  
  
“Na, she’s in Germany.”  
  
“Training?”  
  
“Seeing family. Klaus has gone too.”  
  
“And you didn’t go with? I would’ve thought the extended Brand family would be dying to meet Della’s famous fiancé.”  
  
“We thought about it, but figured all the talk will be about the wedding, and how Dell’s family think it should be in Germany, not Britain, and on the whole we decided it would be best if I wasn’t around for that family dispute.”  
  
“They want it in Germany, huh?”  
  
“Well, it’s her home country, it’s where she grew up, all her family still live there … but she’s been living in Britain for years now, and as far as she’s aware this is her home now. I guess it’s hard for her, she wants to settle down here where her friends and her career are, but her family all want her back in Germany.” He paused. “Do you ever feel like that?”  
  
I frowned.  
  
“Yes and no…” I said slowly. “I mean, I was born in Surrey and my dad’s as English as they come. But my mamá’s determined to cling on to every single piece of her Spanish culture and heritage, and she wants to pass that onto us. Which … well, it’s difficult when you don’t live there, you know? I’ve been brought up in England, I went to an English boarding school … sure, I can speak Spanish and I know Barcelona as well as I do London, but it doesn’t stop me feeling like a bit of a fraud when we go to visit the rest of the family.”  
  
It was my turn to pause. I wasn’t even sure I’d said as much on the matter to anyone before.  
  
“But Della’s different,” I said with a shrug. “I mean, if anything she’s more in my mother’s situation than mine. And she _chose_ to move here for work, and just happened to meet you here. My mother met my dad in Spain, and moved here to be with him, and I don’t know how much of that was _her_ choice and how much of it was him not wanting to live in Spain … and I think all of that combined makes her absolutely determined to hold on to every last bit of heritage that she can. But Della … she wants to be here, she always has, and she seems so self-assured, I don’t think she’d ever be worried by the notion of her losing a part of herself. I don’t know if any of that makes sense…”  
  
“No, it does,” Ryan said, and it was only then that I remembered _his_ family came from across the sea as well. “What about … I mean, what you said about your mum wanting to hold on to where she came from … do you feel that about the Muggle world?”  
  
“I mean, in a way they’re different. You can’t live in two countries at the same time, but … well, at least while James and I were still in the flat in London, I had the best of both worlds. I was in the Muggle world, but the Leaky Cauldron was only just round the corner. And the Floo network gets you everywhere, doesn’t it? I guess it’s a bit different up here, being so inaccessible to Muggles. But I can still see my family and friends, London is still only a fireplace away. It’s just the logistics that are more complicated. But … it’s all worth it.”  
  
Of course it was worth it. It _had_ to be worth it.  
  
***  
  
James flopped into the flat that evening, looking sweaty and grubby but happy all the same.  
  
“I love my job,” he beamed, stripping off his Quidditch robes.  
  
“Teach a kid something good today?”  
  
“Nope, but I put five of them in detention.”  
  
I blinked.  
  
“Giving you power over other people really was a bad idea,” I said. “Why did you put them in detention?”  
  
“They were causing trouble,” he said simply, grabbing a bread roll from the bread bin and tearing it into bitesize pieces.  
  
“Let me get this straight,” I said slowly. “You, James Potter, troublemaker extraordinaire, punished Hogwarts students for trying to cause trouble?”  
  
“Yep,” he said simply through a mouthful of bread.  
  
“The word hypocrite comes to mind…”  
  
“Well,” James began, then paused to swallow. “They shouldn’t have got caught, should they? I can’t go _rewarding_ troublemakers for doing it wrong and getting caught, even if it _was_ me who caught them. They need to learn to not get caught, like I did, and then they’ll be rewarded by _not_ getting put in detention.”  
  
“You had an interactive map of the school, I’d consider that a huge and unfair advantage.”  
  
“Hey, there are lots of other people who can cause trouble without maps. Roxanne didn’t have the map at school, Louis didn’t have the map at school, neither of them got given detentions for troublemaking – and trust me, neither of them are innocent.”  
  
“Yes, well, Louis could talk himself out of a murder charge,” I said dryly.  
  
“Well then, these kids need to learn that art, don’t they? And until they do-” James swallowed the last piece of his bread without chewing it – “I’ll put them in detention. It could be worse, they’re just tidying up the broomstick cupboard. I didn’t even take any points.”  
  
“Were they Gryffindors?”  
  
“Yes, but that’s irrelevant. Right, I need a shower.” He leaned across the kitchen counter, pulled me close and kissed my forehead. “I missed you today, Royce told a funny joke in the staffroom at break and it made me think of you, you’d have loved it.”  
  
“That’s a very touching sentiment,” I said, wrinkling my nose, “but you were right, you need a shower, don’t come near me again until you smell better.”  
  
Thirty seconds later I found myself dumped in the shower, fully clothed, with the cold tap turned on full.  
  
Yes, living in Hogsmeade was proving tough. But it was worth every moment


	9. nueve

“So this is everything we’ve got so far.”

Roscoe and Isaac dumped an absolute mound of brightly coloured parchment onto the bar top.

“What on earth-”

“And this is how much we’ve raised,” Connor added, pushing not one, but three bulging money bags across the counter.

“Christ, you boys have been busy,” I said, reaching out to the glossy parchment. “Are these _posters_?”

Two weeks had passed since the boys had last been in the Three Broomsticks getting their assignment as my Hogwarts liaisons. Since then, Lily had picked a date for the match, and Harry and Teddy had chosen their team colours – Harry’s Lions were playing in purple, and Teddy’s Griffins in an orange which would clash awfully with the hair of the three gingers on his team. Requests for articles for the programme, along with paid advertising slots, had been sent out and already responded to in droves. And it seemed my motley crew of troublemakers had been up to actual good for once.

“Seb drew them up. Pretty cool, aren’t they?”

I picked up the one on the top of the pile. It was a drawing of Ginny, in orange robes, on a broomstick with Quaffle in hand. It was a remarkably realistic portrayal. As I watched, poster-Ginny threw the Quaffle out of shot, then caught it as it came back in from the opposite side. _Weasley v Weasley_ was the tagline that had been chosen to advertise the game, and the boys had blazoned that heading across the top of the poster, along with details about the date, venue and ticket prices. Underneath the picture was the caption:

_Ginny Potter_

_Gryffindor_

_Holyhead Harpies_

“This is _incredible_!”

“There’s one for each player. Here, this is the Prof.”

Isaac pulled out one of the posters from the pile and handed it to me.

“ _Wow_ …” I breathed.

It was like I was actually watching James play. Everything about the drawing was accurate, down to the look of concentration on his face, his posture on his broom and the way his right hand gripped the Quaffle.

_James Potter_

_Gryffindor_

_Falmouth Falcons_

_England_

_World Cup Winner_

“We were going to put everyone’s Quidditch Cup wins on their posters,” Connor said, “but Gryffindor won all of the House Cups when these guys played. And so poor Malfoy’s poster would have looked a bit sad. But we figured we couldn’t miss off a World Cup win.”

“James will be very happy about that,” I mused, flicking through the rest of the posters. “I – oh, _honestly_ , guys?”

I’d found Harry’s poster. The drawing was of him reaching out to catch a Snitch. But it was the caption that had caught my eye.

_Harry Potter_

_Gryffindor_

_The Boy Who Lived_

_Saviour of the Wizarding World_

“It’s all about _marketing_ , Carly-”

“ _Carla_!”

“-people will come from far and wide to see the Boy Who Lived playing Quidditch again! I thought that was what you wanted?”

“Well, _yes_ , but I don’t think people need reminding about Harry’s credentials, he’s kind of a big deal as it is.”

“Well, if you don’t _want_ the posters…”

“I’ll take them, I’ll take them! _Honestly_ , I swear you boys are the reason I’ll never consider a career as a teacher.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Roscoe said loftily. “Anyway, there’s enough here for you to put one of each player up in the pub, and the same at both Wheezes shops and the Leaky Cauldron. And there’s an assortment left for shop windows round here and at Diagon Alley. We’ve even thrown in a giant size one of Ja – Professor Potter – for you to put up here. Think he’ll like that?”

“Too much,” I said dryly. “But honestly guys, this is incredible, thank you so much. I mean, the _posters_ , I never even mentioned posters…”

“You asked us to hype,” Isaac pointed out. “We are your hype men. Hey, do you need a commentator for the game because-”

“Louis is doing it,” I said hurriedly, keen to avoid an unmitigated disaster. “Anyway, I’m guessing you’ve got posters up around the school?”

“Yep, and sales have been through the roof already. Parents are writing to their kids asking them to buy tickets in bulk. I hope you guys have thought about enlarging the stands because I don’t know if we’ve got enough seats as it is. Anyway, takings are there.” Connor gestured towards the money bags he’d placed down. “And don’t worry, there’s a full record of all the tickets we’ve sold so you can see we’ve not filched anything. Not that we would, this is for _charity_ , we’re not bad people.”

“That’s debatable,” I said, collecting up the posters and money bags and depositing them all behind the bar. “This is all awesome work though, thank you so much. I know Lily will really appreciate it.”

“Enough to give us a bottle of Firewhisky?”

“Get out of here.”

***

“Are you _sure_ you’ll be okay-”

“Merlin’s beard, Carla, _yes_ I’m sure! We’re running a village pub, not the London Ritz!”

I stared at James, bewildered.

“Since when do _you_ know what the Ritz is?”

“I’m not a total ignoramus when it comes to Muggle culture, you know,” James sniffed.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay, Lily mentioned it the other week, she got to stay there when the Assyrian Minister for Magic came for his visit – but that’s beside the point. Don’t you have a train to catch?”

“Yeah, in an hour. It won’t take me an hour to get to London.”

“It will once you’ve had a gossip with half the population of the Leaky,” James pointed out.

He had a point.

“Have you got everything you need?”

“I think so…” I frowned, looking at the bags on the floor next to me. I’d managed to pack surprisingly lightly for my holiday this time round – or so it appeared. In reality, there was an Undetectable Extension Charm on my suitcase. I was sure this was flouting several Statute regulations, but I was hardly going to get Rose into trouble by saying anything about it.

“I’ll take it downstairs for you,” James volunteered.

“I can do it myself-” I began.

I had a thing about guys trying to do things like carry bags for me, when I was totally capable of doing it myself. It was as though I felt undermined, a combination of people feeling like they had to wrap me up in cotton wool because of Parky, and simply because I was a woman.

But I was also still prone to forgetting that when James offered to move something for me, he wasn’t offering out of some sort of chivalrous notion that implied that I couldn’t do something for myself. He was just trying to make life easier for both of us, in a way that Muggles couldn’t.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” he said, flicking his wand lazily. My suitcase and travel bag jumped up into the air, and James steered them along the landing and down the rickety staircase, making the whole thing look effortless and normal.

Though I supposed it _was_ normal procedure for him.

I picked Cecilia up from the settee and gave her one last hug.

“You behave yourself for James, won’t you?” I said to her, holding her up at eye level.

She squeaked.

“And don’t go telling him you’re hungry all the time, you know he overindulges us women far too much.”

I kissed her on the top of her head – although I supposed she was basically _all_ head – and set her back down on the settee, where she wriggled about a few times before nuzzling into the cushions and closing her eyes.

I liked her most when she was asleep; that way I could almost convince myself that she was cute.

Down in the pub, James had set my bags down beside the fireplace. I said one last hurried goodbye to Daryl, Aggie, Lauren and her friend Tara, who was covering for me for the week, then crossed the room to join James.

“Got everything you need?” he asked.

“Phone, purse, passport,” I ticked off mentally, as I patted about my person for the various objects in my pockets, “sanity, patience … they’ll both be gone by tonight…”

James chuckled, and threw an arm round me.

“Don’t be so pessimistic, you’re supposed to enjoy family holidays,” he reminded me. He planted a soft kiss on my forehead. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Out of nowhere came a sudden rush of affection; I let my handbag fall to the floor and flung my arms round his neck, burying my head in his shoulder. He reciprocated, squeezing me tightly and stroking my hair.

“It’ll be fine,” he murmured into my curls. “Just don’t let them get to you, okay? They don’t mean it, they just care about you and they don’t understand.”

I nodded into his shoulder.

“Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone,” I said.

He chuckled; I felt more than heard it.

“I’ll try not to,” he promised. He gave me one last squeeze, then let me go. “I’ll see you Saturday,” he added, pulling at one of my curls.

He helped me put my bags into the fireplace, then stood back as I stepped into the hearth. I grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the flower pot he proffered at me, and threw it down at the flames.

“The Leaky Cauldron!” I said loudly, trying not to choke on the ash.

A blur of green, and James’ face was gone.

***

“Alright, Carly?”

Dad pulled me into a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey, Dad.” Despite my reservations about the holiday, I _had_ missed my dad, with his big hugs, cheeky grin and air of reassurance; for all my life he’d been my safety blanket, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit more relaxed now I was with him, and not having to hear him scold me down the telephone.

“How was the sleeper?” he asked, letting me go and grabbing the handle of my suitcase.

I shrugged.

“As good as an overnight train is ever going to be,” I said, thanking my lucky stars that in reality I’d been able to trade that option in for ten seconds in a fireplace.

“Well you’ll be glad to know your mamá’s cooking escudella for dinner,” he said, as we headed out of the train station towards the car park. “I imagine you’re hungry.”

I now regretted having had a portion of Aggie’s finest steak and kidney pudding for lunch. Escudella was one of my favourite dishes, and Mamá cooked it better than anyone else I knew.

“Mmm, starving,” I said, trying to sound convincing.

It was odd, looking out of the car window as Dad drove back to his and Mamá’s house, and not seeing snow. We had heaps of it in Hogsmeade, and I’d almost forgotten that Surrey rarely saw so much as a dusting of snow. It was as though even the climate was trying to remind me that I lived in a totally different world to my family these days.

“So what’s James up to this week, while you’re out with us?” Dad asked suddenly.

“Oh, he’s still working,” I said, turning back to face Dad. “He’s tied to school holidays, he doesn’t get time off ‘til Easter.”

“Does he not help you with your little pub, then?”

I tried to ignore the phrase ’ _little_ pub’.

“He does on Sundays, and sometimes in the evenings if he’s not too tired. He gets Saturdays off if the weather’s too bad to play Qu- sport, too, but I’ve got a few people who work there with me, so I don’t really need him to help. Sometimes it’s easier when he’s not there trying to be useful, to be honest.”

“Don’t you get tired as well though?”

“Not really, there are quite a few hours in the day when there’s not much happening. And everyone there is so friendly anyway, it doesn’t _feel_ like you’re rushed off your feet trying to serve people. It’s a lovely little community, everyone knows everyone, and it’s a completely different environment to the restaurant in London. I love it, I really do.”

I’d become animated with enthusiasm, as I always did when talking about the pub. Dad smiled, but I could see there was reservation beneath the grin.

“Well, so long as you’re enjoying it,” he said.

“But?” I prompted.

“Who said there was a but?”

“There’s _always_ a but.”

Dad sighed.

“Just … don’t lose sight of your long-term options.”

“I don’t see why you guys think this can’t possibly be long-term,” I said shortly, hoping that would be enough of a hint for Dad to shut down the conversation. Thankfully, he caught on and changed the subject.

“I think Johnny’s going to propose to Nita,” he said.

“ _What_?”

Johnny was my sister Juanita’s long-term boyfriend. They’d been together for years, and he’d been coming on family holidays with us for a while now, but I’d never considered he’d actually propose to her.

“Yeah, he says he wants to talk to me and your mother about something before the end of the week. He seemed terrified when he told us _that_ much. I think he’s going to ask us if he can ask her to marry him. Probably worried I’ll say no. Reckon I should turn scary Dad on him?”

I giggled. _This_ was the Dad I knew and loved, the cheeky, mischievous character.

“Do it,” I said, “it’ll keep him on his toes. Do you think he plans on asking her in Barca?”

“I reckon so,” he said. “I _hope_ so. Your mother’s already hat shopping, she’ll be crushed if all he wants to do is ask for her escudella recipe. She’s probably told the whole family it’s happening.”

“Poor Mamá,” I sighed.

“ _You’d_ better hope Johnny’s got a ring, mind, your mother’s friends are all marrying off their kids and she’s starting to despair that she’ll never get to do that herself. If Nita doesn’t get engaged this week she’ll start asking about you and James. I mean, you’re closer to wedding bells than Tony is.”

I pulled a face.

“I’ll put in a special request with Johnny, I can’t be dealing with that sort of maternal pressure. Has Tone still not managed to convince a single woman that he’s remotely eligible then?”

Dad grinned.

“Ah, you know what Tone’s like, he likes to think he’s a free spirit. Besides, he’s spending too much time worrying about his work at the moment, I don’t know that he can be bothered to put the time or the energy towards his love life. Especially when he’s got you and Nita to worry about.”

I frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re hardly shy retiring characters, are you? Don’t go telling me you wouldn’t both be judging any woman he’d bring home from the moment she walked through the front door.”

“Oh, I’d be judging from far before that moment,” I said. “Anyway, that’s a nonsense excuse. He was judging James from the second he learned he existed. And he’ll probably try to do the threatening brother talk to Johnny if he _does_ propose.”

“Yes, but that’s just Tone feeling like he has to impose his clearly superior manliness all over his sisters’ boyfriends. Trust me, it’s a guy thing, everyone feels like it’s their duty to protect their sisters. You and Nita would probably manage to scare most girls without even trying. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a girlfriend the whole time and was keeping her hidden from you two.”

“Maybe he’s already married,” I suggested.

“ _Don’t_ say that around Mamá,” Dad warned.

I laughed again.

My parents lived in what I had to admit was a pretty nice house in Guildford. It felt worlds away from the quaint cottage that was the Three Broomsticks, or the ramshackle Burrow. But it was where I’d grown up, and the sight of it as we pulled into the driveway still evoked those memories of my childhood and made me feel somewhat at ease.

Mamá had obviously heard the car as we’d arrived, and by the time I’d gotten my bags out of the car she was on the front doorstep waiting for me.

“Oh, Carla, darling, it’s so lovely to see you,” she said as I reached her, pulling me into a huge hug. She was wearing her favourite apron, and smelled of flowery shampoo and garlic.

“I’ve missed you, Mamá.”

She pulled away and gave me a scrutinising look.

“You’ve been eating too much, _chica_ , I can see it in your cheeks,” she said. “And what is _this_? It doesn’t make you look any slimmer.”

She pulled at my blue Weasley jumper.

“James’ Nana knitted it for me,” I said with a frown. “I like it, it’s comfy.”

“Come on Eva, at least let her get in the house before giving her your critique,” Dad joked. “Don’t you listen to your Mamá, Carly, so long as you’re healthy and you’re eating well that’s all that matters. James is at least earning enough to keep your fridge stocked, I take it?”

“ _Ugh_ , you guys are both ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes and pushed past Mamá into the house.

“Ah, Carla, you should have known this was coming. What would a trip back home be without a beauty lecture from Mamá and unwanted financial advice from Dad?”

My older sister Juanita was leant up against the kitchen doorframe, watching the proceedings with a smirk on her face. She was tall, willowy and effortlessly graceful; all traits she’d inherited from Mamá and that I was distinctly lacking in comparison. It was no wonder her boyfriend wanted to marry her.

“Oi, if you’re not careful it’ll be you next!” Dad joked to her as he lugged my suitcase inside.

But they didn’t really have anything to critique Nita _for_. She certainly wasn’t chubby round the cheeks, or sporting a thick knitted jumper. She could actually tell her parents about her boyfriend’s successful career and healthy paycheck, and she lived close enough for them to visit her twice a month. It was clear that Mamá and Dad felt they’d got it right first time round, and that I was supposed to be more like her.

I still absolutely adored her though. It wasn’t _her_ fault that I was unfavourably compared to her. And she was my fiercest ally in the family; I could count on her a lot more than I could Antonio.

“Where are the boys?” I asked now.

Juanita rolled her eyes.

“Upstairs playing some stupid video game,” she said with disdain. “But that’s fine by me, it keeps them out of the way so that _we_ can have a girly catch up over a bottle of wine.”

She took my arm and steered me into the kitchen.

“It’s alright, I’ll take Carly’s bags upstairs then shall I?” Dad called back from behind us.

“Yeah, that’ll be great, thanks Dad!”

We were halfway through a second bottle of wine by the time Antonio and Johnny came down to join us, and on bottle number four by the time dinner was ready. Mamá and Dad refrained from giving me any further constructive criticism, though I was prepared for a lot of it to come in the week. Instead most of the conversation was centred around Toni, who’d apparently received a job promotion and pay rise since I’d last seen him.

“So I’ve booked us lads in for a round of eighteen up at the course next weekend! Bit of a celebration for us,” Dad said. “James is still coming down next weekend, isn’t he? I’ve booked all four of us in.”

“Yeah – yes, he is,” I said, internally cursing. Dad, being Dad, didn’t ask me if James was interested in golf, or in fact if he even _played_. He would be working on the assumption that of _course_ James played, because who didn’t? And our local course wasn’t just some casual golf course, it was _Wentworth_. Dad wouldn’t be impressed if James turned up not looking the part – or unable to even play golf.

As soon as dinner was over I snuck away from the table to send Lily a message. I couldn’t message James direct, as his mobile wouldn’t get any signal until he next left Hogsmeade.

_URGENT – need you to teach James about golf by next weekend!_

She didn’t take long to reply.

_I’ll pop round tomorrow night. He can borrow Kit’s clubs!_

I breathed a sigh of relief. I had no doubt that James would be irritatingly good at the game in no time at all. He was that sort of person. I just needed to know that he knew which way to hold a club by next weekend. If only he could play a good round, then Dad might approve of him a bit more.

I could only hope.


	10. diez

I’d always hated flying. The process at the airport irritated me, I used to get really travel sick when I was younger, I was inevitably always stuck next to a smelly stranger on the plane itself, and in general the whole procedure just seemed to take up an entire day even when the flight itself was only a couple of hours. Knowing that aeroplane travel wasn’t even necessary now that fire travel was accessible to me just made the flight to Barcelona that much more frustrating.

The cherry on top was finding out that I had to sit next to Antonio on the flight.

“Want to watch a film?” he asked, getting his tablet out of his bag. “I’ve got a headphone splitter.”

It was a superhero film, Toni’s favourite genre. Unfortunately, they’d lost their appeal for me since I’d learned that magic existed, and that James could do pretty much everything the superheroes in the films could without even thinking about it. Most of the storylines in the films, I reflected, seemed a lot less exciting with the knowledge that the wizarding world could defeat any of the villains with relative ease.

And Toni was the worst person to watch a film with. Not five minutes would go by without him interrupting to provide pointless trivia about things that happened during filming, or how things happened ‘differently in the comics’, or how this bit in this film referenced that bit in that film which I hadn’t even seen anyway.

Wearing headphones wasn’t enough to stop him either. Instead, to make sure I could hear every word he was saying, he insisted on pulling the headphones away from my ear every time he had something to say.

I was definitely not sitting next to him on the flight home.

The film hadn’t finished by the time the plane landed.

“No worries,” Toni said brightly, putting his tablet away. “There’s about fifty minutes left, we can finish it sometime this week.”

Mission number one: avoid Toni all week.

Uncle Emilio was there to meet us at the airport, and had his usual loud, over-enthusiastic reunion hug with Mamá. He then, of course, had to go through the same routine with us, and so it was a while before we all managed to squish into his car in order to head to his house on the outskirts of the city. Emilio had a fairly large car, but it still felt like a squeeze for me, tucked into the back with Nita. Then again, I was used to Harry’s magically enhanced car these days.

Luckily for us, Emilio didn’t live too far from the airport, and so we weren’t in the car for very long. _Un_ fortunately, it transpired that we were the last of the family to arrive, and so we’d be bombarded by the whole family in one fell swoop. This wasn’t at all compatible with my normal tactic at family gatherings which was to determinedly avoid all the undesirables as much as possible, and so it was with a sense of trepidation and dread that I half-stepped, half-fell out of the car once we pulled into Emilio’s driveway.

I had good reason for the trepidation. Mamá’s family was _huge_. Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews … it was as though the Spanish didn’t have television. There was Mamá’s sister Gabriela, who always dressed as though a Prada store had thrown up on her, and her younger brother Luca, who had never gotten married and lived with Emilio and his wife Marisol (not that Marisol liked that). Then there was Mamá’s favourite sister Margarita, who I’d been named after – she was the baby of the family, ten years younger than Mamá, and had been staying with her and Dad in Surrey when Mamá was pregnant with me.

There was also Mamá’s aunt Conchita, whose children had all been married by about twenty and who always sniffed disapprovingly at the very notion of Juanita and I ‘living in sin’, while remaining completely clueless as to her husband Mateo’s numerous marital discretions.

My cousin Tatiana had been pretty much permanently pregnant for at least the last ten years, and was constantly surrounded by her brood of noisy, irritating children – those kids were a large part of why I wasn’t fond of small humans. And then in complete contrast, her brother Jorge seemed to have a different woman on his arm every time we visited (much to aunt Conchita’s disgust of course).

Then there was Mamá’s cousin Raphael who’d caused an absolute stir a couple of years ago by marrying a woman nearly forty years younger than him. Flavia was barely a year older than me, and was a good decade younger than her own stepchildren. She constantly strived to have a wardrobe as expensive as Gabriela’s and a kitchen as nice as Marisol’s – all with Raphael’s money of course.

And there was the matriarch herself, yaya Maria, who refused to believe that my Parkinson diagnosis was a thing and maintained that all I needed was more exposure to a Mediterranean climate and diet, and a rosary, and a combination of nature and God would cure me.

They were, for the most part, completely exhausting, and I usually found myself seeking out the company of Marisol and her daughters Inez and Beatriz, who were close in age to me and pretty sensible for the most part. And so it was with relief that I spied the three of them together off to one side of the enormous living room Emilio ushered us into, and I scrambled round the outskirts of the family huddle to reach them.

“Come, darling, escape the family drama,” Inez said, giving me a one-armed hug.

“What _now_?” I asked, allowing Marisol to kiss my cheeks.

“Flavia of course,” Beatriz said disdainfully. “Apparently the room Mamá offered her wasn’t good enough. She’s booked herself into a hotel instead.”

“Good riddance if you ask me,” Marisol added. “I didn’t want her staying in my house anyway.”

“But of course Gabi told her off for being disrespectful, and then Raphael jumped in to stick up for Flavia, and suddenly there was a big screaming match and Flavia stormed out.”

“I don’t know why she comes to these family events,” I said. “She doesn’t like any of us, and she must _know_ that none of us like her.”

“Oh, you know what she’s like, she can’t bear to miss out on an occasion like this, or people might think she wasn’t invited and we can’t have that,” Marisol said scornfully. “And we can’t uninvite her without uninviting Raphael as well, and Emilio is too nice to do that.”

“Anyway, enough about horrible Flavia,” Inez interrupted. “Why have you still not brought the lovely James with you? We really want to meet him, you know.”

“Ah, maybe Carla’s saving _him_ from having to meet _us_ ,” Beatriz pointed out.

“There are definitely a lot of people here who I wouldn’t want him to meet,” I admitted. Although the thought of my wand-waving boyfriend meeting my rosary-clutching grandmother was an amusing one, even if none of my family knew who he really was. “Anyway, my own parents still don’t really like him so I don’t think they’d be too happy about him coming along.”

“I don’t understand _why_ ; from everything Nita’s said about him he sounds wonderful,” Inez said.

“Yes, well, Oliver has always been a bit particular about the _oddest_ things,” Marisol said. “It doesn’t surprise me if your James doesn’t tick all his boxes.”

It was a pretty accurate summary of my Dad.

But at that moment I was spotted, and my peace was shattered.

“And _there’s_ our Carlotta! Oh, you’re right Eva, just _look_ at those chubby cheeks! We need to get you on a diet, my dear…”

***

Later that day, after dinner, Dad pulled me to one side.

“We were right!” he hissed, “he’s gonna do it!”

“I – what?”

“Johnny! He’s gonna propose to Nita! This week!”

“Well that’s good news.”

“Isn’t it!” Dad was beaming. “Your Mamá’s so excited! And Johnny even asked Emilio too, said he didn’t want Emilio to feel like he was taking the spotlight and that they’d keep it quiet, and Emilio’s said they can announce it at the party on Friday! He’s even said they can have their wedding out here if they want!”

“Of course he did, Emilio loves stuff like that,” I said. “I mean she’s still got to say yes first, remember…”

“You think she won’t say yes?” Dad said sharply, his face falling. “Why won’t she say yes? Do you know something?”

“ _No_ , Dad! I didn’t say she won’t say yes, I’m sure she will! I’m just saying, don’t start assuming they’re already engaged. And don’t tell anyone else either! _Please_ tell me Mamá isn’t off telling the whole family there’s going to be a wedding…”

“No, no, she’s on her best behaviour. Don’t worry, the next person to find out will be Nita.”

“Good,” I said firmly.

I _really_ hoped she said yes.

***

The next couple of days passed without incident. We spent the days visiting old friends of Mamá, and the evenings at Emilio and Marisol’s, drinking wine and eating dinner well into the night. I was sleeping in Beatriz’s room as I usually did, and so when we got tired of the rest of the family we headed up to her room to watch films. Even before I’d met James I had always been somewhat out of touch with Spanish culture, and so Beatriz never questioned when I hadn’t seen a recent film.

There was no news from Nita and Johnny either. I could tell that Mamá and Dad were both starting to grow anxious, and I was becoming slightly irritated with them. As much as I adored Johnny, and really hoped Nita said yes, this was for them to be concerned with, not our parents. It was enough that Johnny had even asked Mamá and Dad for their permission – it was such an outdated tradition these days, and I didn’t really see how it was their business who any of their children married.

But, of course, this was part of the reason why Johnny got on with them so well – he knew that Dad was set in his ways and he knew how to pander to them. He also would have known that Dad would give his blessing to them marrying without a second thought, so really to Johnny this all would just have been a formality to keep everyone happy.

Still, I wished for Johnny’s sake that he could have done this a bit more privately.

But I didn’t dwell too much over my sister’s love life. I had my own things going on to occupy my mind.

It was Thursday morning when I received the message I’d been looking out for.

_Today, 11am. Don’t be seen!_

I looked up from my phone and glanced around the table at my family, who were all eating breakfast.

“Er, do we have any plans for today? I just thought I might head out for a bit of a wander by myself. I’ve got a few calls I need to make for work…”

I hesitated for a moment, wary of a bad reaction, but then Johnny stepped in and solved everything without realising.

“Yeah, Nita and I were thinking we might have a day to ourselves if that’s alright with everyone.”

Of course, the moment he said that, nobody was going to argue with him, because he was clearly going to use the opportunity to get away from the rest of the family to propose to Nita. And nobody was going to deny _him_ that, which meant that nobody would deny me having the day to myself. Or Nita would get suspicious.

Step one complete.

I got myself dressed and ready in double-quick time, and found Emilio waiting by his front door to give me a lift to the train station. From there it was a fairly simple trip on the metro, with just one change, to get to the meeting point.

It was busy in the centre of the city, and I couldn’t help being nervous as I scurried up the road, glancing furtively at the passers-by. I had my scarf up round my nose and mouth to ensure that if any of my family were about, they wouldn’t recognise me. I couldn’t afford anyone reporting back to my parents that I had met up with a man in the middle of La Rambla.

Of course, most of my family hadn’t met James, and so it was unlikely they’d recognise him. But letting my parents think I was meeting up with a strange man was just as bad as them learning James was able to pop to Barcelona for the day.

James was waiting for me at the spot we’d arranged. I couldn’t help but smile as I saw him; I’d missed him even though I’d only been away for half a week. But before I could so much as say hello, he took my hand and whisked me down a side street, then left into an alleyway I didn’t even know existed. Left, right, another right, the alleys constantly growing narrower and darker; I was trying to keep track of where we were in my head but it just didn’t make _sense_ , I knew these alleyways couldn’t possibly be here, in the middle of one of the busiest areas in the city, a place I knew like the back of my hand-

And then the street opened up in front of us, and I couldn’t help but gasp.

“Welcome,” James said, “to Calle Magia.”

“This…” I began, my eyes moving at triple speed to try to absorb all they were seeing, “this is just _unreal_ …”

It was Barcelona, but not as I’d ever seen her before. It was as though someone had taken one of the streets we’d left behind in the Muggle world, enlarged all the buildings, then somehow squeezed them back into the space they’d originally taken up, added a few turrets to the roofs, painted every door a different colour and also managed to fit a fountain into the middle of the cobbled plaza.

If you’d asked me to combine Barcelona and Diagon Alley, the street of my imagination would be a pale imitation of this.

“But – how can’t Muggles find it?”

“ _Magia_ , my dear,” James said with a smile. “I thought you knew how all this worked by now?”

“I know, but we just popped down a side street … but that street shouldn’t even _be_ there…”

“Stop thinking about it and go explore,” James grinned, nudging me forwards.

I didn’t need telling twice.

I had to exercise a lot of self-control to not spend all of January’s earnings on a gorgeous set of dress robes – given I’d spent most of December’s wage on a perfectly good set that I’d only worn once – and I had to stop James from buying half the sweet shop. But I couldn’t resist buying a Spanish magical history book from the bookshop, despite James teasing me about buying a school book.

It took us a while to wind our way down the street, and not just because we were taking our time in the shops. James was constantly being greeted by others in the street, not because he was a Potter – the Spanish were mad about their Quidditch and knew of him as a Falmouth Falcons icon and a World Cup winner. But eventually we reached our lunch spot, an incredibly popular café run by Señora Sánchez. James had booked us a table, and it was the Señora herself who greeted us with immense excitement and showed us to our spot.

After a long and leisurely lunch, which seemed far too cheap – Señora Sánchez had almost certainly given James a discount – it was time for the next surprise.

At first glance it looked as though James had just dumped us both in the middle of the Spanish countryside. But after a few steps forwards in the direction he indicated-

“Quidditch hoops!” I looked back at him, my eyes wide. “Are we watching a Quidditch match?”

“The Banshees are playing the Seville Serpents,” he said with a grin. “I thought you might want to check it out.”

Ever since I’d learned of their existence I’d supported the all-female Barcelona Banshees. I watched the Quidditch Channel every time their matches were broadcast, followed the Spanish League standings avidly, and had been lucky enough to have met a couple of the players in England during the World Cup. But I’d never seen them play live before.

“Come on, let’s get good seats.”

It was an incredible game. The Banshees and the Serpents were the top two teams in the League, and the way they played demonstrated that. Even James was in awe of some of the Chaser plays. Eventually, a good two hours into the game, the Banshees Seeker caught the Snitch and secured them the win.

It had already been an incredible day. But it wasn’t over yet, for James still had his ace up his sleeve. As we got to the bottom of the stands, instead of heading to the exit in order to Disapparate back to the city, he led me to the changing rooms.

“ _No_ …”

“I called in a favour,” he said simply. “Want to meet the teams?”

I couldn’t say yes fast enough.

The players were just as excited to meet us as I was to meet them, which I found crazy. James’ appeal made sense, but it seemed as though I’d attracted some sort of cult following throughout wizarding continental Europe - apparently everyone these days knew about the Muggle who ran the wizarding pub.

It wasn’t long before we found ourselves back in the city, with the Banshees squad, propping up the bar in Calle Magia. We were having such a good time that it wasn’t until my phone rang a good while later that I realised what the time was.

“Shit,” I muttered, as I realised it was my Dad phoning me. “James, I think I’m going to need to head home – hi, Daddy!”

“Carly, where are you? Your mother’s worried, and Marisol wants to know if you’re going to be back in time for dinner!”

“Yes, I’m just on my way back now, I’ll be-” I paused, glancing at James, “-fifteen minutes,” I finished, reciting the words he had just mouthed at me.

“Don’t be late,” Dad said sternly, and hung up.

I let out a long sigh, stuffing my phone back into my bag.

“I don’t want to go back…”

“It _is_ getting on,” James said, “I should probably be heading home as well, I’ve got an early start tomorrow to make up for having today off. You’ll need to let me know where I’m Apparating to…”

Ten minutes later I was heading up the long drive towards Emilio’s front door, my heart feeling heavy. I’d had the most incredible day, and it had been an absolute wrench to have had to say goodbye to all our new friends and leave Barcelona’s magical world behind. And I hated that I’d had to walk away from James and let him Apparate back to our home on his own, even though it was only another few days until I’d be back there with him.

But the worst part of all was the feeling that, in the city in which my own mother had grown up, the city I’d visited at least twice a year every year, the city in which we’d spent our summers as children and that I knew – or thought I knew – like the back of my hand, it was today, in the magical world, that I’d felt most at home.

***

Our last day in Spain was full of distractions which meant I didn’t have much time to dwell on my thoughts. Johnny _had_ proposed to Juanita, and to my absolute joy she’d said yes. They took Mamá, Dad, Toni and me out to lunch to tell us the news before letting the rest of the family know at Emilio’s huge birthday party that night. Nita had asked me if I would be a bridesmaid – not that they had a clue when or where they would actually get married – and I of course said yes.

It was nice to think that I had a family occasion on the horizon that it wouldn’t feel like a chore to attend.

The party that night was as big and bonkers as Emilio’s gatherings usually were. I bailed as soon as Nita and Johnny had made their announcement, with the excuse that I wanted an early night ready for our flight home tomorrow – we _did_ have an early flight, and luckily most of the family knew I was a notoriously bad flyer, so the excuse had legs.

In reality, once upstairs I got out my notebook and looked over the design I’d been working on for the programme layout for the Quidditch match. I hadn’t had much chance to look over it all week, as I was having to keep it hidden from everyone else, but I knew Lily wanted to have a rough template in place by next week. It was yet another reason why I’d found this week frustrating – I knew that businesses were sending in their adverts for the programme and Lily would be tearing her hair out trying to keep track of what was going on.

It probably made me a terrible person, that instead of being downstairs joining in with a big family celebration, I was upstairs on my own wishing I was with my boyfriend’s family instead. But I supposed I’d always felt as though I didn’t have all that much in common with my family, that despite us being flesh and blood I’d somehow always envisaged myself going down a different path to the one I was supposed to take. Admittedly I hadn’t anticipated that path being Hogsmeade High Street. But it was as though the enforced distance that living in the wizarding world had created between me and my family had just emphasised our differences.

And my father’s behaviour at the end of the week only served to prove a point.

For the most part he behaved the entire time James was with us over the weekend. He was very friendly when James met us at the airport – purporting to have arrived on a flight from Scotland half an hour before our flight from Spain landed – and spent a good hour or so that afternoon looking over James’ golf clubs, even replacing a couple of the grips that had worn through. Luckily it turned out that Kit’s clubs, while a bit tired, were at least _good_ ones, and Kit and Lily had done a good job of explaining the difference between a wood and an iron – in fact, it sounded as though James’ knowledge of golf was already better than mine.

Dad was even polite when speaking to James about his work, despite the fact I knew he didn’t think much of him being a sports teacher. Although admittedly James’ performance at the golf course, in which he beat Toni and Johnny and nearly beat _Dad_ , seemed to go some way to improving Dad’s opinion of him. James was _evidently_ a skilled sportsman, and so perhaps he wasn’t a _total_ hopeless case.

I just couldn’t believe that James had managed to beat my brother at golf having not known the right way to hold a club a week ago. And Toni’s reaction to losing made it even more satisfying.

In fact, Dad _almost_ nailed it, and it was only right at the end of my visit, after I’d said goodbye to Mamá, Nita, Johnny and Toni, and Dad had given James and me a lift to the train station to catch our train to London (as far as he was aware, to head to Euston for the sleeper train, in reality to get to Charing Cross and Floo home from the Leaky Cauldron) when he showed his colours.

The train pulled into the station, and James busied himself with getting our bags on board while I stayed to say my goodbyes.

“Bye, Dad. Thanks for this week.”

“See you, Carly. Call me when you get home, okay?” Dad gave me one of his bone-splitting hugs. “You know, Clive at the club reckons he could get you a job at the clubhouse restaurant if you want? It’s good pay, and you could move back in with us-”

I pushed him away and took a few steps back, staring at him incredulously.

“But I don’t _want_ to work at the clubhouse and move back in with you!” I said. “Is that _really_ what you want for me?”

“I just want you to be happy, Carly-”

“ _No_ , you don’t!” I cried, my blood boiling. “Because I’m happy _now_ , I like my job, I like where I live and I’m happy with James! What will it take for you to support me, like you do Nita and Toni? I’m sorry I didn’t go to university, I’m sorry I don’t have some fancy executive job, I’m sorry I don’t have the sort of boyfriend you want me to have, but that’s not _me_! I don’t expect you to boast about me to your mates at the club like you do the others, but it would be really nice if you could be happy _for_ me for once. Or is that too much to ask?”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond, but spun on my heel and marched towards James and the train, without so much as a glance over my shoulder.


	11. once

“So, something happened last week,” Lily said by way of a Monday lunchtime greeting.

I frowned.

“What do you mean? Good or bad?”

“Bad. Definitely bad.”

My stomach felt heavy all of a sudden.

“Oh god, what? Is everyone okay?”

“Oh, everyone’s _fine_ ,” she said reassuringly. “Well, for the most part anyway. Nothing’s happened _to_ anyone. Just, a bad _thing_ has happened. I don’t suppose you have any food by the way? I forgot to pack lunch.”

“You’re sitting in a pub,” I pointed out, slightly irritated now – Lily had a tendency to drop hints at a big story only to drag out the details. “Soup or sandwich?”

I waited until she’d had a few spoonfuls of the piping hot tomato soup before questioning her.

“Right, _what_ has happened? And no more cryptic remarks, just the facts.”

Lily chewed on a piece of bread.

“Okay,” she said once she’d swallowed, sitting up straight on the bar stool. “So it turns out that Hermione and Rose have been working on a sort of project for a few weeks now. Nothing official, just, you know, they were curious.”

“Rose being _curious_ is never a good thing,” I said.

“Wait for it,” Lily said darkly. “They were hypothesising – all unofficial, just a private little thing between mother and daughter that they worked on outside of work hours, remember – how we might consider going about a potential removal of the Statute of Secrecy one day.”

The words took a moment to sink in.

“Removal of … the _Statute of Secrecy_?”

“That’s what I said.” Lily took another slurp of soup. “By the sounds of it, it was actually what you said about Lucius Malfoy ambushing you that started it off – that and the argument we had over dinner the next day. They wondered, _are_ there a lot of wizards and witches out there who resent having to hide, are we in a different sort of world now to the one that required the Statute in the first place in order to protect magical people from persecution, and will we maybe get to a stage sometime in the future in which we’re so tightly wound in with the Muggle world that it’s impossible to stay secret? And would we potentially risk reaching a point of no return if we _don’t_ start thinking about it now?

“It’s all very delicate, as you can imagine, just the suggestion of lifting the Statute is so controversial and _littered_ with issues. Hermione in particular reached a conclusion that it was maybe in our best interests if someone could get the ball rolling on this in total secrecy, all on a purely academic basis, with no particular motives and no real ambition for this to actually happen any time soon. _Completely_ theoretical. But then if a situation _did_ arise in which the wizarding world came under pressure to lift the Statute, at least some work will have been done on how best to do so. Hermione is _not_ trying to lift the Statute _now_ , or anytime in at least the near future.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, my brain working double time to try to process what I was hearing. “So … what’s happened?”

“Nobody’s all that sure, really,” she said, mopping up her soup with the last of her bread. “And that’s what makes this even worse. But essentially, _somehow_ , the Minister’s office have gotten hold of it.”

My jaw dropped.

“I - but - _how_ -”

“That,” she replied, “is a very good question. Hermione’s now called for an inquiry within the MLE because presumably someone with access to her office is involved. Which includes _Dad_ , and Uncle Ron, so they’re having to investigate them which is madness. But, of course, that’s the least of our worries, because basically this project is now public knowledge. And the Minister has decided he’s _interested in advancing it further_.”

“ _What_?”

Minister Knatchbull hadn’t been in office for very long. Nobody really seemed to know much about him or where he’d come from, which seemed fishy to me, especially in a world where everyone seemed to know everyone. His family were Canadian but one of his ancestors was allegedly a previous Minister for Magic back in the 1700s. He’d worked his way up through the Department for International Magical Cooperation, via the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and had somewhat surprised the political establishment with his support base when he’d run for office. It was as though people were beginning to grow fatigued with Harry and Hermione’s generation, who by all accounts had given the Ministry a much needed shake up in the aftermath of Voldemort’s defeat, but had very much remained in the driving seats ever since.

Unfortunately, some people didn’t seem to realise that this was because they were good at what they did, and change for change’s sake wasn’t always a good idea. According to Harry, nobody really knew what Knatchbull’s agenda was or what he was likely to do.

“So ... so what next?”

“Well, nobody really knows,” Lily confessed. “He’s announced that his team of advisors will be ‘looking into the plans’ but nobody knows if that means he actually wants to act on it. He doesn’t have the authority to lift the Statute on his own anyway; it’s an international law, not a British one. The International Confederation of Wizards would need to rule on it, and Knatchbull would be breaking the Statute if he tried to unilaterally lift it. But that’s almost a moot point right now. The fact is, the Statute is now likely to be politicised, and that’s exactly what Hermione _didn’t_ want to happen.”

I shook my head, dumbfounded. It felt as though my stomach had turned to iron.

“How does anyone even think the Statute could be lifted, anyway? You can’t just stand up at a UN meeting and say ‘hi guys, we want to share our powers with you all and stop being isolationist,’ like we’re bloody Wakanda or something.”

“Which is exactly the point of Hermione and Rose starting this going in the first place,” Lily sighed. “We would have to be _so_ much more discreet than that, and they both understand that. Hermione’s from a Muggle family, out of everyone in our family she’s probably the only one who understands as much as you and I do how damaging it could be if the Muggle world found out about us, especially if it was carried out the wrong way. Do we really want to put this decision into the hands of purebloods who have little to no interaction with Muggles?”

She let out a heavy sigh.

“But ... I mean...” I was trying to calm myself down more than anything. “I mean, surely if the Confederation has to decide to lift it, then it means the whole _world_ has to sign off on it? Which is _beyond_ unlikely, so...”

“Pretty much,” Lily agreed. “I mean there are countries like the USA who have much stricter laws than us. Over there it would be illegal for you to date James at all, whether you knew about us or not. There’s absolutely _no_ mingling with Muggles there. So they’re very unlikely to want to revoke the Statute. Then there are some countries with oppressive regimes, or where there has been a hostile takeover, in which the rulers don’t even _know_ about their magical population because obviously the preceding government wouldn’t have had chance to tell them and what wizarding community would willingly admit their existence to an oppressive dictator ... so, yeah, I’m sure there will be so much resistance to this. But whether this even gets to international level or not, the point is it’s damaging enough having this discussed by _our_ government. Because now everyone is talking about it, and this is the sort of hypothesis that quite frankly some people shouldn’t be allowed an opinion on. Incidentally, don’t look at what the _Daily Prophet_ has been saying, somehow they’re making it personal.”

“Oh, I’ve banned it from here,” I said. “So if you’re referring to any comments they may have made about me, it’s probably fuelled by that. They don’t like me now.”

Lily snorted.

“Speaking of things being banned from here,” she added, “James banned the Weasley Sunday dinner too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he said he didn’t want us all gathering here yesterday when you guys weren’t here,” she clarified. “This whole fiasco ... hasn’t exactly gone down well within the family. I expect James realised that putting us all in one room was just asking for trouble.”

“Oh _shit_.” That hadn’t occurred to me. “Who’s said what?”

“The usual culprits, the usual crap. This all kicked off at the start of last week but James didn’t want to tell you while you were away with your family. And he didn’t want to rush the whole thing this morning, so I told him I’d come round and fill you in with the details. It’s undoubtedly going to be the talk of the town for weeks now.”

I groaned.

“This is...”

“Shit,” Lily provided succinctly.

“Shit,” I agreed.

***

That evening, Freddie and Brigid came round for dinner. Monday nights were usually quiet, and so Lauren and Kreacher were manning the pub, leaving James and me free to host dinner upstairs. Ordinarily I would have felt guilty about taking a night off on my first day back at work, but the four of us hadn’t had a chance to catch up properly in weeks, and after Lily’s bombshell I really needed a distraction.

Unfortunately, as I should have expected, the conversation topic didn’t really allow for much distraction.

“How was your week with mad Spanish people?” Brigid asked once we were all settled in the lounge.

“It was ... hectic,” I admitted. “I’m glad it’s over. I love some of them, but most of them are just idiots, it’s a wonder we’re all related. You guys have no idea how lucky you are that you all get on,” I added towards James and Freddie.

“Well,” began James.

“ _Mostly_ ,” Freddie finished. “When people don’t have stupid ass ideas about changing the world.”

“Yeah, Lily told me about that today,” I said darkly. “Bloody mental, the whole thing.”

Freddie frowned.

“Do _you_ not want the Statute lifted? I would’ve thought you’d want your world to know about our world.”

“My world is _definitely_ not ready to learn about your world.”

“Surely not _all_ Muggles would take it badly, though? I mean, wouldn’t it make it easier for you if your family knew about us?”

I thought about my rosary-clutching wider family, and their refusal to even believe in modern medicine.

“It would make my life many things, but easier is not one of them. I don’t even know how my _parents_ would take it.”

“You were pretty chill about it.”

“Not at first,” I reminded Freddie. “And besides, I ... well, my parents aren’t exactly all that fond of James in the first place. I can’t see them ever taking this _well_.”

Brigid looked confused.

“I don’t get what there is not to like about James.”

“Well, put it this way,” I said. “ _They_ think he’s a failed footballer who never made it out of the lower leagues and who has therefore had to settle for a teaching job to make ends meet. And he’s now whisked me away to some remote village in Scotland with this mad idea that we can run a pub together. They don’t know, they _can’t_ know, that he’s a World Cup winning Quidditch player who retired in his prime to take up a prestigious job, and that we live in a lovely village in Scotland and he’s used his somewhat considerable wealth earned through said Quidditch career to buy one of the most popular wizarding pubs in the world with a mad idea that we can run it together. Ironically, he’s actually perfect boyfriend material for me in their eyes – wealthy, good prospects and a secure career – and they’d love the whole World Cup thing. But they don’t know about any of that. They also don’t know that remoteness isn’t a thing as soon as you can throw some magic green powder into a fire and let it take you anywhere you like, provided it’s got a fireplace.”

“He doesn’t have to be a _failed_ football player, though,” Freddie protested.

“He does, to be fair,” Brigid pointed out for me, “otherwise Carla’s parents would then be wondering why he doesn’t play in the top league. I mean, ideally they wouldn’t know he played any sort of sport, they’d think he was a pencil pusher like most Muggles are.”

“Thanks for the advice, Brie, we’ll do that two years ago,” James quipped.

“But surely,” Freddie pressed, “if they were able to find out that James actually _is_ successful and rich and maybe not _completely_ reckless with your careers, and that you could actually visit them all the time, then they’d like him and be okay with the whole magic thing?”

“Well, let’s see, first off I’d have to deal with the fact that I’ve lied to them for the past two years, and let them think they can’t see me for the past four months when I _could_ just hop in a fireplace and be in London in a flash,” I pointed out. “And once we’re through _that_ shocker, there’s still the stumbling block that there’s an entire society of people out there who’ve kept their existence hidden for centuries and in the meantime have the ability to kill people with a stick. Not sure that James winning a World Cup will make all of that okay, all things considered. Want a mead, Fred?”

“I was beginning to think you’d never ask.”

“Yes, well, I’m used to working in a pub and waiting for people to _ask_ me for the drinks they want, I’ve forgotten how to be a host.” I got to my feet and stretched, feeling all my tight muscles screaming at me. “Brie, pumpkin juice?”

“Actually I wouldn’t say no to sharing a bottle of wine if you’re happy to open one?” she suggested.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Tee-total life get boring, huh?”

She smiled slightly.

“That, and I’m getting sick of having to Apparate Freddie everywhere.”

“Don’t I know the feeling,” James grumbled, before raising his arms to shield himself from the cushion I threw at him.

Another advantage of hosting friends upstairs rather than in the pub was that I didn’t need to worry about charging them for their drinks, I considered as I poured wine in the kitchen. We really needed to start recouping money back from all the freebies I’d given out in January.

Once we were all settled with drinks, James spoke up.

“We had a staff meeting at the school today. Apparently McGonagall is stepping down at the end of the school year.”

“ _What_?” Freddie and Brigid chorused.

“Well, that makes sense, she’s ancient isn’t she?” I supplied.

“She’s only about a hundred,” James said, as though that meant she was young. “But yeah, she’s retiring, and boy does she deserve it. So we had this meeting today, because Flitwick is Deputy Head, but he’s almost as old as she is. So it’s been decided that Neville is going to be the headmaster from next September.”

“Wow!” Brigid said. “That’s incredible, he must be so chuffed about that!”

“Yeah, I think he’s pretty excited,” James said. “Course, it means we’re looking for a new Herbology teacher now but there are loads of people out there so it shouldn’t be too hard. And Flitwick is staying on as Deputy for a year or two just to help with the transition. _Anyway_ , I’m not just telling you this because there’s been good news for _Neville_.” He paused for a moment. “As you all know, Neville is currently Head of Gryffindor.”

My jaw dropped, as the implication of what he was saying hit. And it seemed Freddie and Brigid shared my sentiment.

“ _No_.”

“Absolutely no way.”

“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying-”

The fact that James was beaming pretty much answered that.

“Yep! You guys are looking at the next Head of Gryffindor.”

Freddie let out a bark of laughter, and Brigid snorted into her wine.

“You, Head of _House_? In charge of discipline for all of Gryffindor? Oh, this is going to fall apart within _weeks_ ,” she pronounced.

_“_ If I didn’t find this so funny I’d be mad at you for taking on such a position of responsibility,” Freddie chipped in. He looked like he was doing all he could to swallow another burst of laughter.

“He put some Gryffindors in detention the other week,” I volunteered, trying to fill the position of supportive girlfriend.

“You _put Gryffindors in detention_?”

“Well, yeah, they got caught!”

“You punished them for _getting caught_?”

“They need to learn,” James told Brigid simply, as he’d told me at the time.

“Are there honestly no other Gryffindors in the teaching staff?” Freddie pondered.

“They haven’t just given me the post by _default_ -” James protested.

“Sluggy’s Slytherin, Babbling’s Hufflepuff, Vector, Sinistra and Trelawney are Ravenclaw, Firenze is a centaur,” Brigid began, counting them off on her fingers.

“As if you’d make Trelawney a Head of House anyway,” Freddie interjected.

“Hagrid’s not on the full teaching staff any more, Binns is … heck, does anyone know what House he was in?” Brigid continued. “Anyway, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge that Hogwarts even has students so he’s out-”

“ _Will you stop counting_?”

“Filch is a Squib, Pomfrey’s the nurse so she’s not an option-”

“Fine, take the piss,” said James sulkily, sitting back in the sofa and looking genuinely annoyed. I shuffled over towards him and kissed his cheek, feeling a bit guilty that my first reaction to his news had been to poke fun at him. He was clearly excited about his promotion and we were supposed to be the supportive ones.

“ _I’m_ proud of you,” I said. “Maybe you can be a good role model to some of the troublemakers at the school.”

“Thanks, pet.” He smiled and threw an arm round my shoulders. “ _And_ I get a pay rise,” he added towards Freddie and Brigid, neither of whom looked as abashed as I felt.

“I still maintain that McGonagall, Flitwick and Longbottom put you in that many detentions as a kid, it beggars belief they want to give you more authority now,” Brigid said.

“Yeah, how come when kids cause trouble at the school now, McGonagall’s on _my_ back for selling them the stuff and yet she’s giving _you_ , my childhood partner in crime, a promotion to a position of authority?” Freddie shook his head in mock protest.

“Probably because while _I_ am now putting students in detention for using banned goods, _you_ are the person supplying said goods. Just throwing that out there.”

“It’s an outrage,” Freddie continued. “A _Potter_ , Head of House? What would your namesakes say? You’re not worthy to use the Marauder’s Map, you’re a disgrace to your parents and to the Weasley name, you’re _worse than Molly_ -”

His tirade continued on throughout the evening, with even dinner not providing a distraction from his mock anger. It was a lovely evening, and actually proved the relaxing mental break that last week’s holiday should have provided me. It was in fact almost the perfect night – if not for James’ comment just before bed, once Brigid and Freddie had left.

“Are you going to call your dad?”

He hadn’t yet talked to me about my bust-up with Dad at the train station the previous evening, though I knew he’d heard what had been said.

I chewed my bottom lip.

“I feel like I _should_ …” I began.

“He’ll want to know you got home safe,” James pointed out.

“I know, but … oh, I just don’t want to talk to him right now,” I sighed. “He can’t say everything that he said to me and still expect me to be a good daughter and call him when he tells me to. How is it any of his business what my job is?”

“He’s your dad, of course he worries about you-”

“No, James, this isn’t him _worrying_ about me, this is him not having a clue what it is I do and not attempting to understand because he thinks having to tell his country club friends that one of his children works in hospitality makes _him_ sound bad. Toni’s in banking, Nita’s in politics, and I’ve let Dad down by daring to settle for a job in a pub. He’s been like this ever since I left school and decided not to go to university, and he’s worse now I live further away and he feels like he has less of an influence on me. I’m _sick_ of him not listening to what I want to do, and trying to tell me what I should do with my life.”

I took a deep breath. I hadn’t meant to rant, especially not to _James_ of all people, who knew exactly what my dad was like and was just trying to help me see his point of view. Unfortunately, this time I wasn’t going to give Dad a single inch.

“You _should_ still call him though,” James eventually suggested. “He’ll be worried until he hears from you.”

“He can hear from me tomorrow night then,” I said firmly. _Let him stew for a bit_.

“Look, Carls, are you sure you don’t want to tell them about me?” James said tentatively. “You know, magic and all. They wouldn’t need to know as much as you do. But it might help them understand why we live in Scotland, and you _could_ visit them more often if they knew about the Floo.”

“I can’t,” I said flatly. “I just … can’t. They’re my family, and I can’t risk pushing them away. Any more than I already have done.”

“Well, it’s your choice,” James said. “I’ve got to admit, I’ve never _deliberately_ told someone about magic, I have no idea how scary the thought is. But I do know how much I was shitting myself after you found out about us, and I know that’s nothing compared to your situation.” He leant forwards and kissed my forehead. “Come on, bed time.”

“You never know,” I said, getting up and raising my arms above my head to stretch out all my stiff muscles, “Knatchbull might just manage to single-handedly lift the Statute and make my decision for me in the end.”

“Don’t,” James said darkly. “Just imagine what might happen.”

“I don’t think we need to worry too much,” I said, having spent the whole afternoon reading up on the Statute and its implementation. “The number of hoops he’d have to jump through to get it through, it’s never going to happen. Anyone can see it’s far too risky a move and there’s no right way to pull it off.”

If only I’d known at the time just how wrong I was.


	12. doce

Brigid was late.

“I thought that might happen,” Lily said, tucking into a sandwich. “For someone whose job is organising people, her timekeeping can be shocking.”

I couldn’t disagree with that.

“It’s fine though,” Lily continued with her mouth full, “I’m not in a rush to get back to work.” With what looked like a lot of effort, she swallowed. “I’m owed some hours back,” she explained, “I keep working through my lunch break.”

“Why? Are you busy?”

“Not really. I just don’t notice that it’s lunchtime.”

I frowned.

“But don’t your colleagues tell you when you’re working through lunch? Don’t you ever have plans with them?” My brother and sister always seemed to be going for work lunches, and I figured that was what everyone who worked in offices did.

“Na, none of them really like me much.”

She said it in an alarmingly matter-of-fact tone.

I stared at her in disbelief. “Whyever not?”

“Well, my Whitehall colleagues hate me for jumping through a load of hoops and getting Advisor to the Prime Minister straight out of school, when they’ve all been working for years to be promoted. _They_ don’t realise it’s a specialist job involving our world, of course, which makes it all a bit awkward. I think some of them think I’m having an affair with him or something equally sordid. And the Ministry guys don’t think it’s fair that I should have a job with such proximity to the Minister because I didn’t go to Hogwarts – completely ignoring that that’s the whole _point_ of why _I_ have this job. It’s not all fun and games being a Squib, you know.”

“But – I – I can’t believe the Ministry guys would be like that,” I said. “I mean, surely they ought to know that you work in the Muggle world too, and … well … I mean, you’re…”

“A Potter, so people should like me?” Lily raised an eyebrow. “It’s odd, isn’t it, everyone wants to be friends with James and Al but not poor boring Squib Lily. I don’t mind it, though. It means I know the people who are nice to me are actually genuine and not just trying to cling to my coat-tails because of Dad.”

“No wonder you’re always here for lunch,” I said, without thinking.

“Pretty much.” She shrugged. “What else am I going to do with my time? Go for business lunches with Dad and Al? I think not.”

I must have had a look of abject pity on my face, because she continued, “honestly, don’t worry, I’m fine. Most of the Ministry guys are dickheads who aren’t worth being friends with anyway. My brothers and cousins have already vetted all recent Hogwarts alumni worth knowing, and I can assure you none of _them_ are assholes to me at work. Course, most of them don’t work in the Minister’s office.”

She had a point with that. If someone wasn’t on friendly terms with either James, Al, or any of their nine cousins, it stood to reason that they were probably not worth knowing.

At that moment, as if to prove that the Weasleys had good taste in friends, Brigid burst in, her face the same shade of magenta as the robes which meant she’d just come off a shift on the shop floor.

“Sorry,” she panted, “couldn’t leave til Freddie got back. Came as soon as I could.”

The shop was only four doors up, so she must have sprinted the whole way to us.

“Where was Freddie?” Lily asked with a frown.

“Quidditch practice,” I supplied, as I passed Brigid a glass of water to help her regain her breath. “James has got the pitch booked up for lunchtimes. He’s _actually_ rearranged all his lunchtime private coaching sessions to evenings so that the guys can all practice for the match. They’re taking this far too seriously, I hope you realise what you’ve done unleashing fourteen competitive Weasleys into the world.”

“Oh, that’s just Dad and James persuading their team they need to win,” Lily said, waving an airy hand. “The others are fine-”

“Roxanne’s managed to convince Mum to let her team use the Falcons ground for evening training,” Brigid said flatly. “They’re already competing over who can get more _practice_ in. This is not fine.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s all for a good cause,” Lily said in the same breezy tone.

Brigid and I glanced at each other. It was alright for Lily, she didn’t live and work in the pub and shop that served as Weasley gathering centres. I’d had to put up with far too much chat about the upcoming match, and it was still six weeks away.

“So anyway, I’ve got most of the programme put together,” I said, grabbing my binder from under the bar counter. “Everyone’s written their testimonies, and Thaddeus has sent me his piece about being a Squib. I’ve put out paid advertisement spaces, and they’re pretty much all filled up, I’m just chasing the last couple of payments. Xeno Lovegood’s more than happy with a two page ad for the Quibbler in exchange for printing, and Scrivenshaft’s will provide all the parchment and ink for another two page ad. I’m just waiting for my Hogwarts boys to draw up a front page and then it’s all ready to go to the printers. But I want you to look through it first, just to make sure you’re happy with it all.

“We sold out of tickets a couple of weeks ago, so James talked to Professor McGonagall, and they’re going to add more seats, so that we could sell another few hundred tickets. And they’re now sold out too. I sold quite a lot here, and Hannah Longbottom shifted a few at the Leaky, but my Hogwarts boys have really put the work in on this one, they’ve sold most of the tickets through students. And have given me all the money too,” I added. “I’ve counted it, they haven’t kept any of it back. I _do_ think we should give them something back as payment for all the work they’ve put in, though. They made those posters without me asking and they’re _beautiful_.”

“I – well-” It was a while since I’d seen Lily speechless. “Carla, this is … I mean, _wow_ …”

“And this is what I’ve got,” Brigid said, dumping a bulging bag onto the table. “We’ve done figurines of everyone – here’s your dad, look-” She threw Lily a miniature of Harry in purple Quidditch robes; Lily had to react quickly to catch it before it hit her in the face- “and we’ve got banners, scarves, flags, all your classic Quidditch merch. Honeydukes are going to donate a load of their stock to us to sell at the ground too, and Carla and Hannah are supplying us with Butterbeers and potentially Heidelberg mead if we think it won’t cause _too_ many problems. I’m going to have Rose, Luce, Victoire, Dom and Molly on stands around the ground selling, and then we’ll have Bill, Fleur, Percy, Audrey and Hermione checking tickets and seating people. Is that everything? Oh, and Louis commentating, obviously.”

I wasn’t looking forward to that. Whoever thought it was a good idea to give a part-Veela a microphone had presumably discovered some sort of immunity to Louis’ voice.

“This is _incredible_ ,” Lily said. “Honestly, I hadn’t even _considered_ merch…”

“Well, we weren’t about to half-arse it,” I reasoned. I’d brought Brigid onto the project a couple of weeks ago to design the merchandise for the match. The money raising opportunities from that were _huge_.

“I can’t believe this,” Lily said, still staring at her dad’s tiny face in disbelief. “This … this is almost _everything_ … it’s just the robes and-”

“Robes are sorted,” Brigid said promptly. “Malkins did us a deal and the guys each paid for their own set. They’re gorgeous, Freddie looks like an aubergine in his.”

Lily blinked.

“Well then,” she continued, “I guess it’s just the referee-”

“Rosie’s on it,” I said. It paid to have family in the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Lily stared at us.

“Have you two even left _anything_ for me to do?”

***

Since the end of January my thoughts had been pretty focused on the Quidditch match. What with Lily’s obsession with the fundraiser, and James’ obsession with, well, _Quidditch_ , I hadn’t thought I’d have any room to think about anything else until it was over.

Unfortunately, things were moving at such a pace in the political world, it was getting hard to remember that something as harmless as a Quidditch match was due to take place in a few weeks’ time.

“Ireland, Russia, Albania, Norway, Ukraine, Papua New Guinea, Fiji, Abyssinia, Egypt…” Rose ticked off the countries on her fingers as she spoke, one night in March. “And here’s the worst part – China, Japan and Brazil. All now in favour of removing the Statute of Secrecy.”

“How is this even _happening_?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“It’s as though all these governments have seen Knatchbull’s stance and decided they want to get there first,” Albus sighed. “But where this sudden anti-Statute sentiment has come from, I do not know.”

“But Knatchbull’s not even announced whether he wants to overturn the Statute or not.”

“He doesn’t need to. It’s enough that he’s said he’s looking into it,” Rose explained. “It’s like he’s made it acceptable for people to campaign for its removal. And the movement is picking up pace alarmingly quickly.”

“The Americans won’t let it happen though,” Scorpius spoke up. “Their wizarding community is one of the most secretive in the world; it would be far too risky for them to reveal themselves.”

“It’s far too risky _any_ of us doing it, but apparently twelve countries disagree with that, including some of the most populated places in the world, and a country which isn’t even recognised by the Muggle world.” Rose sighed heavily. “I just wish Mum and I never started on that damned paper in the first place. It was _never_ supposed to make it into Ministry hands.”

“You shouldn’t punish yourself over it,” Scorpius said sharply. “You have a curious mind and that’s a wonderful thing, you didn’t mean for people to _act on_ this and you have absolutely no responsibility for the fact that it’s happened. You and your mother only ever meant this as hypothetical research and anyone with their head switched on ought to know that.”

“Have they found out who leaked it yet?” I asked quietly.

“Not yet,” Rose said bitterly. She lifted her wine glass and knocked back the contents.

“I’ll go get you guys another bottle…”

I got up from my seat (reluctantly, as I knew once I was back on my feet I’d need to get back to work) and weaved my way around the occupied tables to get back to the bar.

Al, Rose and Scorpius had come in for dinner – it was unusual to see the three of them socialising away from Weasley family gatherings, and it suggested that relations between Al and Scorpius were improving.

I knew James would be pleased to see his younger brother maturing, although he wasn’t here himself to see it – he was busy with one of the many student coaching sessions he’d rearranged. In fact, I’d barely seen him at all for the past couple of weeks, and I was looking forward to having him back in the evenings and at weekends once the match was over. It was partly because I missed his company, but also because on busy nights like tonight, it was remarkable just how useful even James could be as an extra pair of hands. My five minute chat with Al and Rose was the first time I’d sat down since breakfast.

But I had to look on the bright side – the last few weeks had been our busiest since we’d taken over the pub, and our accounts were looking incredibly healthy as a result. In addition, our chock-a-block Sundays meant that James’ original one-week Weasley dinner moratorium had been extended, as it just wasn’t feasible for James and I to have the time off to eat with them – not to mention the thirty plus free meals that the kitchen would have had to cook on top of our booked tables. It meant I hadn’t seen some of the family since I’d come home from Spain, which in some cases was a shame, but in other instances was quite frankly a relief. There was only so much Louis Weasley I could cope with.

Some of the family were still visiting the pub for dinner as an excuse to visit – hence Al, Rose and Scorpius’ presence – and Ginny and Harry were still over every Saturday morning for breakfast, and of course James’ family teammates were trudging through the pub three times a week on the way to Hogwarts for their practice sessions. And it was so much easier to handle the hot-headed Weasley family in ones and twos, rather than as a job lot-

“Evening, Carlotta.”

I nearly dropped the full tankard of Butterbeer that I was about to place on a tray.

“Shit! Hi, Louis.”

It was as though the bastard had heard my thoughts. There he stood, looking serene as ever, in a vivid green Weasley jumper that had no right to look as good on anyone as it did on him. I was pretty sure Nana Molly deliberately used up her dud colours on him so no other poor soul had to wear them.

“How are you today? You look…” He cocked his head, looking for the right word, “…tired. You must have been working very hard recently. Can I help you with anything?”

He even managed to tell me I looked like shit in a charming manner.

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind running this tray over to those old dears on the table by the fire … wait a moment, they just need a Gillywater…”

Let _them_ deal with his smooth-talking Veela ways, I thought to myself, as I watched him effortlessly weave his way across the room around the many tables, tray held above his head. It took a moment for me to realise my eyes were fixated on a part of his anatomy that I definitely wasn’t supposed to be looking at; I tore my gaze away, feeling my face heat up.

“I don’t blame ya.” Lauren slid another drinks order across the bar for me to prep. “I go weak at the knees every time I see him.”

“At least you’re allowed to,” I pointed out.

“Ah, we can all look. Otherwise it’s just a waste, isn’t it? Anyway, table eight want to pay…”

She quickly totted up their bill and dashed away with it, just as Louis returned with the empty tray. Luckily I was able to keep him busy for a few more minutes running drinks, which gave time for my cheeks to cool down a bit, and by the time he propped himself up against the bar again, I was just about ready for a conversation.

“If you’ve come to see James, he’s up at Hogwarts still, I don’t know when he’ll be home-”

“No, I came to talk to you.”

_Brilliant._

“What can I help you with?”

“I just wanted to ask what the itinerary is for the match. If we’re doing interviews or anything, before or after. I’m trying to piece together my stuff for commentary.”

What on _earth_ did Louis need to ‘piece together’? Surely all a commentator did was watch the match and say what they saw. If I was going to be subjected to a pre-prepared ode to Quidditch from him, delivered over a megaphone, I was certainly going to need earplugs.

“You’re asking the wrong person, I’m afraid,” I said. “This is Lily’s gig, she’s in charge, she’ll have all sorts of things planned out.”

“Come on, Carla,” Louis said, “this may have been Lily’s _idea_ , but we all know _you’re_ responsible for having organised it all. You shouldn’t feel like you need to give her _all_ the credit, not in private anyway.”

I felt my cheeks turning crimson again.

“Well, Thaddeus has written a piece for the programme, and I know he’ll be at the match, so Lily might be planning on having him speak at some point, maybe you could do a sort of on-pitch interview?” I suggested, trying to collect my thoughts.

“That’s an _excellent_ idea. Do you have his article, so I could read it and then write up some questions? Bit of homework, you know.”

And he _actually_ winked at me.

“Um, yeah, um, it’s upstairs,” I stammered, trying to force my brain to resume communication with my knees. “I’ll need to get it after service, we’re super busy now-”

“That’s not a problem at all, I can wait here.”

_Shitshitshitshitshitshit_ -

“Hey, Louis!”

To my sheer relief, Al had just spotted his cousin, and had stood up and called across the pub to get his attention. Louis headed off to join them, leaving me free to turn my back on the bar to down a pint of water and recover from the ordeal.

The problem was, on top of the Veela blood, Louis was just an all round _nice guy_ – or maybe it all came as a package deal, just to help make him that much more irresistible.

A pair of arms enveloped me from behind; I squealed in shock, my senses completely on edge.

“It’s just me!” James said quickly. He planted a soft kiss on my cheek as a greeting.

“I didn’t expect you home so early,” I said, raising a hand to my chest, where it seemed my heart was trying to leap from my body.

“Yeah, I cancelled the tactics session with the Chimaeras. They’ve had enough of my time lately. I thought it would be nice to have an early finish, so I can help you out a bit – oh hey, the Weasleys are in!”

And with that he was off, to chat to his brother and cousins. _So much for the help_. I sighed, and busied myself with clearing up the dirty glasses that Lauren had cleared from the tables.

But to James’ credit, he _did_ reappear after ten minutes or so to lend a hand, and the others joined in to help us clear up once the dinner service was over. It meant that despite the busy evening, things were cleared up in fairly quick time.

“You head on up,” Lauren said to me and James once everyone else had left. “I’ll lock up. You look like you could do with an early night.”

Did I really look _that_ bad today?

But I wasn’t going to argue with an early finish, so James and I headed upstairs and left her to it.

“What was Louis doing here?” he asked, pulling his Quidditch robes over his head in one swoop.

“Oh, I don’t know, some chat about the match and his commentary gig. Just trying to wind me up as usual, probably,” I sighed.

James chuckled.

“He doesn’t _still_ get to you, does he?”

“Hey, it’s alright for _you_ , you’re related to them all, you’ve got some sort of built-in immunity to prevent incest and shit,” I scowled. “Spare a thought for us mere mortals. It’s not just me either, Brigid still goes all squiggly too.”

“Well,” James said, stepping forwards and tugging me close, “I guess I’ll just have to help you take your mind off him, won’t I…”

And boy, did he deliver.


	13. trece

Bitterly cold March rolled into a pleasantly warm April, which brought with it a much longed-for thaw. Even the Hogsmeade locals said it had been an unseasonably long winter.

When we’d first moved to Hogsmeade I’d been so excited for the winter, and the first snowfall had been _incredible_. Having grown up in the South East of England, all a ‘snow day’ was for us was perhaps an inch of powder, and we were far more likely to just have slippery ice. I’d never even built a snowman before, something which James had found incredulous, having spent seven winters living in a castle in the Scottish Highlands.

And sure enough, waking up that first morning after the first snowfall, to see that smooth, blinding white layer covering the cobbled street and the hills around us, truly was magical. To step onto it and _feel_ as much as hear the crunch underfoot, to see my whole foot sink into it, to have a _real white Christmas_ … oh, it had been _incredible_.

By March, I was sick of it. Sick of having to wade through shin-deep snow which always managed to get my socks wet no matter how tightly I tied my boots up, sick of the mounds of it in front of the pub that had been there so long it had basically all turned into dirty ice, sick of the rain which would fall on top of it and then freeze, turning the high street into an ankle-breaking skating rink.

So it was a relief as the warm, sunny spring days rolled by and gradually took the white stuff away with it, leaving fresh green grass and newly sprouted flowers of yellows, pinks and purples in its wake. Spring had always been my favourite season, but this year I appreciated it more than ever.

And the pub was looking beautiful at the moment. We’d put some potted plants on the windowsills outside, refreshed our hanging baskets and set a few outdoor tables up on the cobbles. At the moment they were just being used by the locals for their mid-morning coffees, but Lauren and I had hopes that as the weather got warmer, people would come for al fresco lunch and even dinner.

But today, we weren’t expecting any lunch guests. In fact, if anyone did plan on a nice pub lunch at the Three Broomsticks, they were to be sorely disappointed, because we weren’t even opening until mid-afternoon. I highly doubted anyone would have any foiled lunch plans today, however, as most of wizarding Britain would be piling into the Quidditch stadium at Hogwarts within a few hours. Today, finally, was the day of Lily’s ‘Weasley v Weasley’ match.

And I was longing for the day to be over.

I _was_ excited for the match itself. This was James’ first proper Quidditch game since the World Cup. And I was also looking forward to seeing the rest of the family play for the first time.

But that was about as far as my enthusiasm went. After the match, all those spectators at the match would be piling into the pub. We had three fully booked sittings for dinner, and Daryl and Aggie were already prepping in the kitchen. And, of course, everyone who couldn’t Apparate would be using our fireplace to Floo to Hogsmeade and back.

We’d been up since the crack of dawn, transporting Butterbeer and mead up to the school in preparation for the match. The job was made infinitely easier with James, Albus and Lauren’s magic, but it was still tedious hauling everything out of the back room. Meanwhile, Hannah Longbottom had her daughters Frankie and Alice – and _Hugo_ , because of course – Flooing more stock in from the Leaky Cauldron. Four doors down, George and Angelina were helping Brigid and Freddie get the merchandise up to the school. Meanwhile Lily was at the Quidditch pitch coordinating more Weasley volunteers.

And then the people started arriving. At first it was just dribs and drabs, but it soon turned into a torrent of witches and wizards falling out of our fireplace. Thankfully we’d finished moving the Butterbeer by then, but I had wanted to set up the tables ready for the dinner service, and that was proving almost impossible.

“You guys should head on up to the school,” Lauren said.

“It’s cool, we can stay a bit longer-” James began.

“Honestly, we’re not going to be able to do much more while it’s this busy. I’ll wait around, you guys should go on up. You too, Carla,” she added.

“No, I’ll wait, you go-”

“You need me here to close up,” Lauren reminded me. She was right; I couldn’t shut the Floo off. “Honestly, you should go up there. This is all thanks to your hard work, you should at least get to see what you’ve managed to pull off.”

“You sure?”

“Course. Kreacher can help me. We can do magic, remember.” She winked. “It won’t take us long, I shouldn’t miss much of the game. Go on, shoo, get gone.”

And so a few minutes later, once James had changed into his bright purple robes and Al into vivid orange, we joined the crowd of people meandering their way up the street towards the castle. Only now did I start to feel the excitement build, overtaking the stress of what was to come after.

It seemed as though the entire village was supportive of the match and its cause too; residents all up and down the street had hung orange and purple bunting and flags from their windows.

“This is _incredible_ ,” I breathed.

“It’s like the World Cup final again, eh?” Albus grinned.

“ _Hardly_.” I rolled my eyes.

But Al wasn’t _totally_ wrong, and the comparison became all the more stark when we reached the Quidditch pitch at the castle, to find Rose and Lucy manning stalls adorned with purple and orange, selling the merchandise that Brigid had spent weeks designing, and beyond them Victoire and Dominique at the mobile bars.

“Holy _shit_ …”

“Pretty awesome, huh?” Brigid appeared at my shoulder, beaming.

“It’s _nuts_!” I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. “I can’t believe we helped organise this!”

“Wait til you see this…” Brigid dashed over to the stall that Molly was selling programmes from, and brought one over to me.

“Oh my God, it’s beautiful!”

I’d already seen the drawing that my Hogwarts boys had produced for the front page – a depiction of all fourteen players in action on the pitch, each one of them so remarkably lifelike. But to see it in print, the front page of the glossy programme, with the ‘Weasley v Weasley’ tagline emblazoned across the top and the Squib Foundation logo at the bottom – to see the result of the hard work that had been put in over the past few months – it was enough to take my breath away.

“Not bad, huh? Lily’s pleased as punch with it.” Brigid linked her arm through mine. “Anyway, we should really get going to our seats…”

“Why?” James said. “The match doesn’t start for another hour.”

“I know _that_. But there are _lots_ of people in attendance whom I do not have any desire to run into. You boys would do well to get yourselves into the changing rooms as soon as possible, too.”

“An excellent idea,” James said hastily. “Come on, Al-”

And before I could wish him good luck, he was gone, dragging his brother after him.

“Well that got rid of them.”

I frowned.

“Did you make that up?”

“Oh, no,” Brigid said, as she led me towards the stands, “no, there are definitely a lot of undesirables about. Quite a few reporters, for a start, and we know how well James gets on with _them_.”

She slowed down for a moment, as a blonde woman crossed our path in front of us. I frowned, craning my neck to get another look at the woman, who seemed oddly familiar. Brigid, however, was already marching on towards the steps, and as she still had my elbow tightly gripped I didn’t have much of a choice but to follow her.

“Who’s that?”

“What? Oh, _her_. That’s Lisette Feversham.”

“Feversham…” I couldn’t remember where I’d heard the name before.

“Ingrid’s mother,” Brigid added shortly.

“ _Oh_.” That explained why she looked familiar – Ingrid had clearly inherited her mother’s looks. “What’s _she_ doing here?”

“It’s a charity event, of course she’s here. She’s an attention seeking, fame-loving, _wicked_ woman. She’d attend the opening of an envelope. That’s why I didn’t like Ingrid, thought she was a carbon copy of her mother and she was just trying to snag James. Course, it then turned out she was _actually_ just in love with him, so that was my bad.”

Brigid was trying to sound offhand, but I could tell she was feeling awkward. She and I never talked about James’ ex – Brie obviously still felt bad about the part she’d played in Ingrid and James’ breakup, while I simply preferred not thinking about his only previous serious relationship.

“Well, for what it’s worth, if Ingrid was still with James then I wouldn’t be friends with you, so on the whole I’d say you made long term gains,” I pointed out, trying to lighten Brigid’s mood.

“See? Knew what I was doing the whole time.” She smiled slightly. “Plus, nobody needs that _hag_ as a mother-in-law. Look, here we are.”

Brigid and Lily had worked out which tickets to hold back for family, before putting the rest on sale. Lily had commandeered one of the teacher boxes for the Weasley clan, but there were too many of us for one box, so Brigid had suggested that she and I sit in a different one. I was secretly relieved at this; I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Bill’s grandkids, Percy _and_ Molly all at once, without most of the Potters there with me.

Instead, to my joy, we were sitting with some of the people who’d contributed to the programme – which essentially meant most of the Falmouth Falcons squad. Ryan and Della were already in their seats, and greeted us excitedly as we joined them.

“Isn’t this exciting!” Della squealed. “I’ve never sat in these stands before, it’s all so fun!”

They were both wearing matchday scarves; Ryan had a purple one, and Della orange.

“He’s cheering on James, I’m cheering on Roxie,” she explained unnecessarily. “But I don’t think I mind who wins in the end, just so long as we get to see a good game.”

“I suspect of all the people in this stadium, the only fourteen people who want either team to win are the guys playing,” I said dryly. “And I’m not looking forward to the fallout when one team _does_ beat the other, Weasleys are _very_ bad winners when it comes to family competitions.”

“Don’t I know it,” Ryan said darkly.

“Weasley chess games were banned in Gryffindor Tower,” Brie added.

“Louis decided they were going to have a tournament one weekend. It was _barbaric_. Cassandra the pygmy puff was thrown across the common room multiple times, Roxie’s chess set ended up in the fire, and Al, Freddie and Lucy ended up in the hospital wing.”

I stared at Ryan, stunned.

“You’re _joking_.”

“I wish I was,” he sighed.

“Well … who won?”

“Oh, nobody won,” Brigid said. “They didn’t get past the first _round_.”

“Hugo claimed a win over James, but James argued that Hugh forfeited the win by throwing Cassandra at him in the middle of the match. And that was the only match that even got close to a winner.”

“And…” I swallowed nervously, “we’ve just put them all on a _Quidditch pitch_? With Beater bats and a Quaffle? This is a _terrible_ idea!”

“Why do you think I didn’t want to play?” Brigid joked.

“It’ll be fine,” said Ryan as he waved an airy hand. “The adults are playing too-”

“Because Ginny and George are such good arbiters,” I muttered.

“-and more to the point, Rosie’s _not_ playing.” Ryan finished.

“What’s _that_ got to do with anything?”

“Well, who do you think threw Roxie’s chess set in the fire?”

“ _And_ hexed Freddie,” Brie added.

“ _And_ nearly threw Cassie-puff out of the window,” Ryan finished.

I stared at them both, gobsmacked. “Rose did all that? _Our Rose_?”

“Oh, come on, look at the girl. Look at who her parents are. She’s got a competitive streak, an obsessive need to be the best and a hot temper. They are _not_ good qualities for Weasley chess.”

“But…” I looked across the pitch, to where Rosie was still selling merchandise, looking calm and friendly and nowhere near capable of throwing a pygmy puff. “I can’t imagine that, I’ve never seen her get competitive…”

“That’s because you’re shit at wizard’s chess,” said Brigid, without a shred of delicacy.

I couldn’t argue with that.

Our conversation was curtailed as the Bagmans joined us in the box, shortly followed by Puddlemere and England players Emily and Michael Wood and the Irish trio of Aisling Quigley, Fiona O’Sullivan and Brianna Keily. To my surprise, Maddie showed up not long afterwards.

“What are _you_ doing here?” I said, as she squeezed in next to me. “I thought you were watching the match with Lily?”

She looked at me in horror.

“Are you _kidding_ me? You think I’m sitting in _that_ box? I’m not going anywhere near Lily today, she’s got that aura of borderline mania about her that she always gets when she’s planning something. And all the other fun Weasleys are on broomsticks, you couldn’t pay me enough to spend the match with the rest of them. Besides, as _if_ you and Brie aren’t over here for exactly the same reason.”

She had me there.

“Well, does Lily know you’re over here?”

“Yeah, I spouted off some bullshit about how I wanted to spend the day with Cato without it looking suspicious,” Maddie said in a slightly lower voice – not that anyone around us would be able to overhear over the crowd noise. “She lapped the whole thing up. I am not above emotional manipulation.”

“Oh, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I said. “Why do you think I’m up here instead of down on the pitch coordinating? I’ve done enough – Brie too, for that matter. The real Weasleys can do the work today. I want to _enjoy_ the fruits of my labours. The part I didn’t tell Lily was that I can’t be bothered to have to deal with the reporters and the fawning morons. I put up with enough shit in the pub, I don’t want to have to be polite to strangers when I’m off the clock too.”

Maddie snickered.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she vowed.

As we got closer to eleven o’clock, more and more people began to find their seats in the stands ready for the start of the match. With five minutes to go before things were due to kick off, the Weasley cousins packed up their stalls, and the anticipation rose to a fever pitch.

Finally, once everyone was seated, Lily and Louis strode out to the middle of the Quidditch pitch. Louis was clutching the huge purple megaphone that I’d been dreading him using for weeks now. The stands erupted into cheers – perhaps not for Lily and Louis themselves, but certainly because their appearance meant we were getting closer to the match they’d come to see.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the most highly anticipated Quidditch match of the century!”

That was a bold statement, I reflected, given that England had won the World Cup less than two years ago. But then again, given the entire wizarding community’s – frankly _weird_ – hero-worship of the entire Weasley family, perhaps Louis was on the money.

“I’m sure you’re all very excited for the match to begin, but before things kick off we want to remind you why we’re all here. The money you’ve spent on your tickets, on your merchandise, on your food and drink, every single Knut of it is going to the Squib Foundation, the charity set up by our very own Lily Potter to help Squibs with their education and transition into the Muggle world. She has been working tirelessly for months to organise this event, and she has a few words she’d like to say to you all now.”

More cheers as Louis handed over his treasured megaphone.

“Hi, everyone.” Lily had been incredibly confident on stage at her fundraising dinner, but she seemed more uneasy in the middle of a Quidditch pitch with packed stands towering above her. “Thank you all for coming, as Louis says all the money is going to a fantastic cause. But before we get into that, I have a few thanks I’d like to make. Firstly, obviously to my parents, brothers, aunts, uncles and cousins who have all agreed to play today, they’ve all been practicing so much and I have absolutely _no_ idea how this match is going to pan out but it should be good fun.”

“Lock up your pygmy puffs,” Brigid muttered next to me.

“I also need to thank the rest of my family, they may not be playing today but they helped out massively this morning. But most of all I want to mention Brigid, my cousin’s wife, who designed and made all our merchandise, and my brother’s girlfriend Carlotta who put together the programme, organised publicity and ticket sales, and coordinated our food and drink stalls. If any of you have been to the Three Broomsticks or Wheezes recently you’ll have seen first-hand how much hard work they’ve put in. This was my original idea, but Carla and Brie have absolutely run with it and made it happen, and we wouldn’t be here now if not for them.”

I felt my face turn bright red, and I slid down slightly in my seat, as the cheering from the stands grew louder for us. Lily had wanted to drag me down onto the pitch to chat with her, but I had firmly refused. I did _not_ need any more unnecessary attention in my direction.

“Do I need to remind you that your boyfriend is basically the most famous person in wizarding Britain?” Maddie said in my ear, sounding far too gleeful at my discomfort for my liking. “You can’t avoid the attention!”

“I didn’t know that until it was too late,” I grumbled.

Fortunately, Lily had apparently said all she wanted to say, and so the attention moved away from me. Unfortunately, this meant the megaphone found itself back in Louis’ possession.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the match will start in about ten minutes, so consider this your final warning to find your seats before we kick off. But before that, we want to find out a bit more about the Squib Foundation, so please would you all welcome to the pitch, co-founder Thaddeus Ketteridge!”

The cheers for Thaddeus Ketteridge were a bit more muted. The wizarding community was so _predictable_ – most of the people here hadn’t chosen to attend the match out of support for the Squib Foundation at all; they’d only come to see the match itself. And while Lily garnered attention and publicity through her family connections, generally Squibs were low currency members of the community. Nobody really knew, or _cared_ to know, who Thaddeus was.

But of course, Lily and Thaddeus knew all this; they knew they had to use a high-profile event to lull people into giving their money to a cause they felt apathy for. And it was the reason why Louis had spent so much time planning what topics to discuss with Thaddeus on such a stage. They couldn’t expect _everyone_ to actually listen to what Thaddeus had to say, just like how they couldn’t expect everyone to read the piece he’d written for the programme. But with any luck some people _would_ listen, and start to give a damn about the Squib community and the causes the Foundation stood for.

“Now, Thaddeus, obviously I know who you are,” Louis began, “as you’ve been a huge part of Lily’s life for over twelve years now. But there will be a lot of people here who _don’t_ know who you are, or why you do the work you do. So could you tell us how you found out you were a Squib, and how that affected you?”

“Well, obviously I didn’t show any signs of magic as a child, but my parents weren’t _hugely_ worried. Not all children _do_ show signs of magic before they reach the age of eleven, you see, and Squibs are so rare that it certainly wasn’t my parents’ first assumption. We only discovered I was a Squib when the summer after my eleventh birthday rolled around, and I never received a letter from Hogwarts.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Louis said, as though this was his first time hearing this – the boy was a natural at this. “That’s pretty awful to think about. Every witch and wizard from a magical family will understand the excitement of waiting to receive that letter, and the rite of passage of attending Hogwarts. So did you hear from the school at all, did you have any confirmation from anyone that you _were_ a Squib?”

“No, we didn’t hear anything from the school – because, of course, they weren’t to know I _existed_. The Quill records magical births; there’s nothing out there to record a Squib birth. So my parents had to get in touch with the school themselves to verify that there hadn’t been a mistake.”

“That must have been a really hard time for all of you,” Louis said, his voice filled with empathy. If any of the crowd – who had fallen to a hush – were actually listening, then they would surely be feeling for the eleven year old Thaddeus now. “So what happened to you after that?”

“Well, I had to go to a Muggle school, of course,” Thaddeus said. “There was clearly no future for me in the wizarding world if I couldn’t perform magic, so I had to learn to live as a Muggle. And of course there were obstacles to that straight away; Muggle children attend school from the age of four, you see. My parents told the school that accepted me that I’d been home-schooled, but it was clear from the start that I was miles behind all the other children. I didn’t know the history, the geography, the literature, that they did. I had to have tutoring sessions after school and at weekends. I had very little leisure time in my teens, so I had no time to get involved with the extra-curricular activities like sports. And it was very hard to make friends because I didn’t understand the pop culture. My parents did what they could to get me up to scratch with television and movies and the such like, but they didn’t really know much about it themselves. And, of course, we couldn’t really get help from any Muggles because we couldn’t tell anyone about our magical background. So I can’t say I look back on my teen years with any sort of fondness at all, I’m afraid.”

“Merlin’s beard…” Louis murmured, sounding truly shocked. “I can’t even begin to imagine how lonely that must have been. Especially when your childhood friends were telling all their tales about their time at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, it was terrible for me,” Thaddeus agreed. “I didn’t fit in with the magical world any more, but I couldn’t fit in with the Muggle world because I didn’t understand it. And you can’t imagine how confusing it is trying to work out where you want to go in life, when you have no comprehension of the wider world you’re supposed to belong to.”

The assembled crowd were _definitely_ listening now; all eyes were fixed upon the tiny figures on the pitch, and you could have heard a pin drop.

“So what _was_ your next step once you left school?” Louis prompted.

“Well, I went straight to the Ministry of Magic,” Thaddeus explained, “and said that there was no support of any kind for Squibs, and that I wanted to change that. Unfortunately they weren’t very receptive – this was a time when they were caught up with the first rise of He Who Must Not Be Named admittedly, so they had other things to worry about. So I decided to do things myself. I put out an advert in the _Daily Prophet_ for my teaching services, for any other Squibs who wanted help integrating themselves into the Muggle world. It was a sort of support I would have really benefited from, so I felt that if I could just help one Squib with that transition, it would be worth it. And to my surprise, I was contacted by someone the very same week, who was a few years younger than me – so had already done three or four years of Muggle schooling – but who hoped to learn more. And within the next few years I’d had several more Squibs get in touch too. At first, I did this for free on the side of a job I’d gotten myself in a Muggle shop, but I soon had such a workload that I didn’t have time to fit it all in, so I was forced to give up the Muggle job and start charging for the tutoring. I never wanted to make money off these people, I just needed a source of income to help me with my rent and my bills. But I had a fair number of pupils – some of them were a good ten, twenty years older than _me_ even, but wanted to learn more – so nobody had to pay much.”

“And that leads us on to how you came to know Lily, doesn’t it?”

“It does. Lily was an unusual case for me, because Harry and Ginny Potter came to me for my services when she was only eight years old – they’d managed to establish through the school that she was a Squib, you see. Most of my students are at least eleven when they come to me, and so it’s a difficult transition process. But I had three years to prepare Lily for Muggle schooling, and those years were _invaluable_. It’s safe to say that she’s turned out to be one of the most successful Squibs I’ve encountered, and so much of that is because she was able to come to terms with her situation at a much younger age. Of course, having a supportive family also helped her.”

“And I understand she’s the model, so to speak, upon which the two of you have based the Squib Foundation?”

“She is, yes. She understood her privilege in having the family network she does, and the head start she had, and she really wanted to give other Squibs that opportunity too. So the Foundation is really taking what I do and expanding it. The biggest thing we’ve achieved so far is we’ve managed to secure access to the Ministry of Magic’s birth records, which we can then tally up with the Hogwarts List – and any Ministry birth that’s not on the school list is presumed to be a Squib. We can then look to engage with these families at a very early stage, and start to prepare the child for Muggle schooling at a much younger age. Of course, parents aren’t always receptive of us – nobody wants to hear their child is a Squib – but we never push any family to accept our help, and most of the time we do hear back from the family eventually. And the most important thing with the Foundation is that we are able to offer all these services for free, thanks to all the donations we receive.”

“And Squibs of any age can come to the Foundation for help?”

“Oh, absolutely. We prepare young children for Muggle school, and from eleven to eighteen we offer supplementary tutoring if they are struggling with anything on their curriculum. We also offer O.W.L and N.E.W.T tutoring in partnership with Hogwarts; Lily, for example, sat four N.E.W.T theory papers and the Ministry of Magic is happy to recognise those as magical qualifications. It means that Squibs _can_ still work in the wizarding world if they choose to take that path. We also still have adults who come back to us wishing to brush up on certain subjects – again, either Muggle or magical.

“We also try to teach our students more about the Muggle world as a whole, so it’s a less daunting environment to live, learn and work in. And, of course, we offer a huge amount of careers advice, across both worlds. We really try to offer any assistance that any Squib needs, and we feel that as Squibs ourselves we are the ones best placed to do this.”

“And just tell us a bit more about your roles within the Foundation, and who else is involved.”

“Well, Lily is the brains behind it all, she created the Foundation and she’s the one who pushes our publicity and fundraising. I oversee the day to day operations, with the help of several tutors – some are witches and wizards who also offer extra tutoring to Hogwarts students, and some are actually Squibs themselves, who have become experts in certain Muggle fields and look to share their knowledge.

“I also keep track of how our school-age Squibs are getting on at their schools; there are a few schools in the country who are aware of our world and so have a bit more understanding about the support these children need. We like to encourage school-age Squibs to attend boarding schools, as they offer more opportunities for people to immerse themselves into Muggle culture and really thrive. Again, to use her as an example, Lily attended a boarding school and really benefited from it, so we try to use her experiences as a model to follow. But we do appreciate that what worked for her won’t work for everyone, so we try to tailor everyone’s experience based on who they are as individuals.”

“It sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“Oh, I do, but it’s all worth it to help out our fellow Squibs.”

“Well, I’m sure everyone here will agree with me when I say you’re doing fantastic work at the Squib Foundation, and it’s clear that the money we’ve all parted ways with today will go on to fund some incredible causes. Please, everyone, show your appreciation for Lily Potter and this wonderful, remarkable man, Thaddeus Ketteridge!”

The crowd erupted into applause and cheers, and I didn’t think it was just because the end of the interview meant the Quidditch was next.

“You know, I think that might actually have hit home with people,” Brigid shouted into my ear.

I nodded in agreement.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen-” Louis’ voice was now sounding a bit breathless, because he was running across the pitch to get to the commentary position – “it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for … Weasley vs Weasley … the Gryffins vs the Lions!”

The cheers grew yet louder, and the stands were a sea of purple and orange as people waved their scarves and flags in the air.

“A quick reminder of how we’ll be scoring this match, because we don’t want it to end too soon if one of our Seekers is too successful. A Snitch capture will be worth fifty points, but it won’t end the match; instead we will play until a team reaches five hundred points! So it’s all to play for today.

“And now, without any further ado, give it up for the Lions! Weasley – Potter – Malfoy – Weasley – Weasley – Weasley – aaaaand Potter!”

Seven purple figures marched out from the dressing rooms below us, brooms slung over their shoulders. They lined up on one side of the pitch; I could see James standing between Angelina and Scorpius.

“And now let’s hear it for the Gryffins! Potter – Lupin – Weasley – Weasley – Goldstein – Weasley – aaaaand Potter!”

“He’s not going to refer to everyone by their surnames _all match_ , is he?” I asked Brigid, as Ginny led the orange Gryffins out onto the pitch to face their counterparts.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” was her reply. “I mean, at least we’ll know when Scorpius or Teddy have the Quaffle.”

I snickered.

“And now, please show your appreciation for our match referee, offering his time for free – none other than World Cup final referee [Stoyanka Grozda](https://www.hp-lexicon.org/character/stoyanka-grozda/)!”

More cheers, as Grozda strode out onto the pitch with the crate of Quidditch balls under one arm. He was, James had told me once, a World Cup winning Bulgarian Chaser, and he had indeed refereed England vs Ireland.

He set the crate of balls down in between the two teams, and ordered the captains to shake hands – Harry and Teddy did so, both looking like they had their game faces on. They were definitely taking this far too seriously.

“Mount your brooms!” Grozda commanded.

He kicked open the crate; the Bludgers and Snitch flew up into the air. He took hold of the Quaffle, threw it into the air – and blew his whistle.

“Aaaand we’re off! And it’s Ginny Potter with possession of the Quaffle – she passes to Lupin – Weasley – Lupin – Po – intercepted by Potter, who passes to Malfoy – Weasley – Ma – Bludger from Weasley and Malfoy’s lost the Quaffle, Lupin takes control-”

It was carnage. We were lucky we could see what was going on for ourselves, because Louis’ commentary was more confusing than helpful – and yet I couldn’t help but feel like that was deliberate on his part.

The play was fairly fast and frenetic – James and Roxanne were obviously expected to perform, but I hadn’t expected Ginny to be quite as good as she was, given the amount of time she’d had away from the game. It looked as though it was all the other three Chasers could do to keep up.

There were a few shots at goal, but both Ron and Hugo made excellent saves. Finally, after what felt like a long while but was probably only ten minutes of play, there was a goal – and it came from Ginny.

“AND IT’S POTTER WITH THE GOAL, GINNY POTTER OF HOLYHEAD HARPIES FAME! What a player that woman still is! We can see where you got it all from, James!”

Two years ago, James would have resented that remark. But today, on his beloved broom with a manic grin across his face despite the fact his team was a goal down, he raised his arms and bowed down in mock worship towards his mother.

It was as though that goal had broken the floodgates. The next player to score was Scorpius with an incredible dash the full length of the pitch – Ron didn’t look too impressed to have been beaten by him – then Roxanne scored a couple in quick succession.

And then, from that restart, Angelina took possession of the Quaffle, ducked a Bludger and Teddy, shot the ball out to her right to where Scorpius caught it, then almost immediately threw it straight up to where James came flying out of nowhere to snatch it from under Ginny’s nose, duck underneath her and George, perform a Sloth Grip Roll to avoid Ethan’s Bludger and pass back to Angelina. A few passes later, Angelina was right in front of the hoops – she made as if to score, but dropped it – right into James’ outstretched hand. He threw the Quaffle up to the left hoop so fast that all Ron could do was watch with dismay as it sailed through the hoop.

He swooped down to collect the Quaffle, then threw it out to Teddy-

“AND POTTER’S SEEN SOMETHING!” Louis screamed, very unhelpfully. “POTTER IS DIVING – POTTER’S GOING AFTER HIM BUT I’M NOT SURE IF HE’LL CATCH HIM – NO, HE CAN’T – POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH!”

Albus pulled his broom out of the dive, right fist raised and clenched round the Golden Snitch. Harry also pulled up, with a wry smile on his face – I saw, more than heard, him say to James “I’ll get the next one!”

“And that capture, remember, is worth fifty points, so it’s eighty points to twenty in favour of the Gryffins. The Lions could do with scoring a few more goals to get back in touch on the scoreboard!”

And they took Louis at his word.

First Angelina scored, then James, then Angelina again. Teddy pulled one back for the Gryffins – but then Harry delivered on his promise, and won the next Snitch capture.

“One hundred points to ninety now, the Lions in the lead!”

The match continued in a similar vein, with both Chaser trios fairly well balanced, and scoring at a similar pace. The Lions pulled ahead at one point by over a hundred points as Harry caught the Snitch twice in a row, but Al managed to bring their own head-to-head tally back to parity with the next few passages of play. It was a good thing the Snitch rule had been changed – Harry and Al were both absolutely incredible at spotting the ball.

As both teams broke through the four-hundred-and-fifty point mark, after a couple of hours of play, the anticipation within the ground started to rise to a fever pitch. At this point, one last Snitch capture would be enough to decide the match. It was just a question of whether Harry or Al would be able to spot the tiny ball before the Chasers took either team to the finish line themselves.

And then, just as the Gryffins were in possession of the Quaffle and looking as though they might score – Harry dived.

The stands were on their feet, cheering wildly – Albus was speeding towards the same point from the opposite direction, father and son both heading towards the ground at alarming speed – Harry was closer, but Al had more speed on him – Ryan and Della were both waving their scarves maniacally – I didn’t know who I even _wanted_ to win the battle-

“AND POTTER’S DONE IT, HE’S CAUGHT THE SNITCH AND WON THE MATCH!”

“Fuck off, Louis!” I screamed, to Brigid’s delight.

Because for a second or two it wasn’t even clear who had the Snitch, they’d both reached it at almost the same time…

But it was Harry who rose triumphantly, Albus who was left looking bitter at losing that final race for the Snitch.

“THE LIONS WIN, FIVE HUNDRED AND TWENTY POINTS TO FOUR HUNDRED AND EIGHTY! WHAT A MATCH WE’VE ALL WITNESSED!”

In the end, it was probably the result the crowds wanted. Harry and James were the two most popular players on the pitch, and with them both on the same team, it was a no-brainer to work out. Personally, I wasn’t sure if I was happy that James was on the winning team or not.

But as I watched Scorpius and Hugo celebrating together, and Ron congratulating Scorpius on his numerous goals, I had to concede that there was probably much more to gain from a Lions win.

Not to mention that the likes of Harry and James were far more gracious winners than Ron and Teddy were.

There was a whole prize giving ceremony at the end of the match, but I missed it entirely, because I had to run back to the pub. Lauren, who had joined us in the box ten minutes into the match, headed back with me. Aggie, Darryl and Kreacher hadn’t left the kitchen all day, and had done an incredible job prepping for our mammoth dinner service.

I’d been dreading the evening, but I’d been worrying for nothing – I’d forgotten to take into account the Weasley family.

They all made a determined effort to make it back to the pub as quickly as possible, and in no time Nana Molly and Fleur were in the kitchen lending a helping hand, Hermione and Audrey were taking orders for the first few tables to sit down, James was behind the bar instructing Freddie, Rose and Hugo on how to make the drinks, and Ginny, Lily and Brigid were serving them. Harry, Bill, Charlie and Ron were serving food, and Al, Molly, Lucy and Rose were doing circuits of the restaurant clearing empty glasses and plates. And when the time came to clear and reset tables, Roxanne, Victoire and Dominique were on hand.

My absolute masterstroke was putting Teddy and Louis on meet and greet at the main door, showing people to their tables. Not only were they the two smoothest talkers in wizarding Britain – we couldn’t take any walk-ins tonight, and I defied even the grumpiest people showing up requesting a table to take the bad news personally coming from either of them – but it also meant I couldn’t possibly have any awkward run-ins with Louis tonight.

Lauren was doing a wonderful job overseeing the Weasley clan, while putting bills together and taking the payments – we needed people to settle up and get out quickly so we could get the tables back for second and third sittings – and I was camped out at the side of the bar, keeping an eagle eye on proceedings and folding my swan-shaped napkins.

“Hi, Carla.”

I looked up to find Allegra Fawcett opposite me, an orange Gryffins scarf draped over her shoulders.

“Oh, hi, Ally.”

I’d seen a lot of Allegra recently. She was working alongside Audrey in St Mungo’s, and I had monthly appointments at the hospital so Audrey could prod and poke me and use my blood for her Parkinson’s experiments.

“Hope you weren’t too disappointed at the result,” I said, gesturing towards the scarf.

“Oh.” She smiled slightly, fingering at it with one hand. “I just thought that more people would probably be cheering on the Lions. What with James and Harry playing for them. And the rest of my family bought purple scarves. I thought maybe someone should support the Gryffins.”

“That was sweet of you.”

“Well, they’re a good bunch of players too. And it’s not fair for them all to be overshadowed by the same two people all the time. I mean, Albus nearly won the match at the end, it was super close.”

“I think Al’s a bit miffed that he didn’t get that last capture,” I said, “but I’m sure he’ll get over it soon enough.”

“It’s good of them all to help you tonight.”

“Yeah, I didn’t realise they’d all pitch in. It’s great, this is one of the easiest dinner services I’ve ever worked.”

Allegra laughed softly.

“I just wanted to say what an amazing job you did, putting all this together,” she said. “The whole day has been incredible, and it’s obvious that you really understand how nuts we all are about Quidditch.”

My cheeks had gone bright red again.

“I mean, it wasn’t all me, Lily and Brie did loads…”

“You did a _huge_ amount, and you should know that a lot of people have noticed it, and really appreciate it.”

“I-” I didn’t really know what to say. “Well, thanks, that’s … that’s really nice of you. Are you in for dinner with the family?”

“Yeah, we’re just waiting for that table in the window…” Allegra gestured over to five, which was one of the bigger tables. A party of ten was just finishing up on it now, and Victoire and Lucy were hovering ready to clear and reset.

“Feel free to grab drinks from the bar while you’re all waiting,” I said. “You don’t need to wait until you sit down.”

“Oh, I didn’t think we were supposed to order at the bar-”

“Normally you’re not,” I said, “it turns into carnage. But I’ll make an exception for you.”

Allegra smiled gratefully, and dashed off to take an order from her family.

I caught James’ elbow next time he was up at my end of the bar.

“The Fawcetts are getting a round at the bar. It’s on us; don’t put it on their bill.”

He looked at me quizzically.

“Ally Fawcett’s family?”

“Yes, what other Fawcetts are there?”

He didn’t ask any further questions, just nodded and dashed away. He couldn’t raise any objections to one free round of drinks tonight, not when the place was packed out three times over.

It was past midnight when the last customers finally left. The clean-up was as swift as the evening’s service had been, thanks to the sheer number of Weasleys with wands, and I dug out a couple of bottles of the more expensive Firewhisky to show my gratitude.

“I just want to say a huge thank you,” I said once everyone was gathered around the bar with a glass. “I’ve been dreading tonight, and all your help has just been incredible. I promise I’ll try to pay it back with family Sunday dinner again once our bookings have calmed down a bit.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” George said. “We’re Weasleys, it’s what we do.”

I truly adored this bunch of people.

We all necked the Firewhisky, and had a few more glasses too, and soon I wasn’t sure if the warm and fuzzy feeling I felt was thanks to the Weasley clan or the alcohol.

It had been an incredible day. But little did I know at that moment that it would be a very long time before we were together in happy circumstances again.


	14. catorce

Things began to unravel after the Quidditch match.

Freddie and Brigid were due to be coming over for dinner again on Monday night. But Freddie came to the pub at lunchtime looking apologetic.

“We’re not going to be able to make it, I’m afraid,” he said. “Brie’s … well, she’s feeling a bit run down. She’s had a lot going on lately, what with the start of the Quidditch season and having to cover for me in the shop. She just needs a bit of time to recover.”

“Oh!” I was a bit taken aback. “Oh – I didn’t make things worse did I, asking her to help out with the Quidditch merch? I didn’t realise she had so much going on-”

“Oh, no, she loved all that, don’t worry! It was a bit of fun for her, really. I think she was focusing on that, and now the weekend’s over she’s sort of crashed a bit. She’ll be fine, she just needs a bit of time to look after herself, you know?”

“Yeah, of course, that makes sense. Well does she want me to come over somewhen? If she’s not feeling up to coming over here, then I could come to her?”

Freddie hesitated before answering. It was all very weird.

“I don’t think she wants any company at the moment. She just needs a bit of ‘me time’. But I’m sure she’ll come over when she’s ready to be sociable.”

He smiled, but it was an unconvincing smile. And upon a closer look, Freddie didn’t look too great himself.

“Are _you_ okay, Fred?”

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, waving an airy hand. “I need to dash … get back to the shop … see you later…”

And with that, he left.

I frowned, as I watched him leave the pub. I wasn’t at all reassured.

_Something_ was up.

My suspicions were only heightened when James returned home from Hogwarts with an interesting observation.

“Aunt Angie was in the shop just now,” he said, as he leant Flora the Firebolt up against the wall behind the bar.

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked. “She pops in every now and again.”

“No, I mean, she was _running_ the shop. Freddie and Brigid weren’t there. They never get George or Angie in, unless they’re having a holiday or something. But they can’t be on holiday, they’re coming for dinner later aren’t they?”

“Not now, they’re not.”

James frowned, now tugging his cloak off.

“ _Are_ they on holiday? Did they dash off somewhere and not tell us?”

“No … Freddie came by earlier and said Brie’s not well.”

“Like she’s _ill_?” He looked alarmed. “Shouldn’t we check in on her, see if there’s anything we can do to help?”

“I don’t think they _want_ us to. Freddie just said she’s feeling a bit burnt out, like she needs a bit of a break.”

“But surely dinner with us _is_ a break? I mean, _we’re_ not taxing, are we?”

He looked genuinely concerned about the prospect.

I sighed.

“I don’t know, it all sounded a bit odd. Freddie didn’t look great either, if I’m being honest. Have you noticed anything recently? You’ve seen him a lot, with Quidditch practice.”

“Well, no, he seemed fine. Just super focused on the match, you know. Maybe he’s just worried about Brie.” James chewed at his lip for a moment. “She was a bit off last year sometime, wasn’t she? Summertime, when we were still living in London. Not long after they-”

“Got back from their honeymoon,” I finished, recalling the time. “But she can’t have been burnt out _then_ , she’d just had two weeks off work.”

“Unless it was the stress of catching up from two weeks off?” James suggested.

“Possibly…”

“Maybe I should give her a shout, check she’s okay,” he continued.

“I don’t think you should do that,” I said slowly. “I offered to go round, and Freddie said she wouldn’t want visitors. I think we should probably respect that, shouldn’t we?”

James looked like he really didn’t want to, but after a moment he let out a big sigh.

“I guess you’re right,” he said reluctantly. “Well, I guess it’s date night for us then.”

Normally a night to ourselves would be a good thing. But I sensed James was as disappointed as I was that we wouldn’t have company.

***

Harry and Ginny invited us to theirs for dinner on Thursday evening. As we hadn’t had our Monday night off as planned, I didn’t feel quite so guilty about leaving Lauren to run the shift – it wasn’t as though we were ever busy on Thursday nights.

“We should probably give her a pay rise,” James said as we were getting ready. “Do we make enough money to do that?”

I had to stifle a laugh. How could someone honestly know so little about the finances of their own pub?

“Yes, we can afford to give Lauren a pay rise,” I said, amused. The thought eased my conscience a bit; I was aware that I was giving her more and more responsibility with every passing week. If anything she was a victim of her own success, as she’d proved more than adept at everything I’d asked her to do.

I wasn’t surprised when we reached Harry and Ginny’s house to find that Albus and Lily were there – or more specifically, that they were both on time, unlike us. Lily was mid-flow as we got there.

“-made thirty thousand Galleons! _Thirty thousand_! Isn’t that just incredible?”

“Is this the Quidditch match?” James asked.

Lily nodded gleefully.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? Just think of all the incredible things the Foundation can do with that money! The _Prophet_ are running a front page story on it tomorrow too, they’re really starting to get behind us.”

The cynic in me suspected that was due more to the Weasley involvement and the wizarding world’s love of Quidditch than any actual enthusiasm for the Foundation on the part of the paper. But it was still publicity, and ultimately that was all that mattered to Lily.

“Well, it sounds like you’re having a better week than me,” Harry sighed.

We all turned to look at him, puzzled.

“What do you mean?” Albus asked.

“The ICW are having meetings next week,” Harry said, “about the Statute.”

“So I guess you’re going to be stuck in conferences all week? Sounds like fun.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Harry paused. “I’m not part of the delegation.”

“ _What_?” James and Lily both said at once.

“Sorry,” I said, utterly confused, “ _what’s_ meeting next week?”

“The International Confederation of Wizards,” Harry explained. “It’s a long story but essentially a movement in favour of repealing the Statute of Secrecy has sprung up-”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about that,” I said hurriedly. “Sorry, I just didn’t know what the letters stood for. So, _should_ you be going to the meetings?”

“That depends,” Harry said with a wry smile, “on whether or not you think the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement ought to be involved in discussions about repealing the most important law on our books.”

I winced.

“I’m guessing the answer to that is yes?”

“I can’t believe this,” James said, visibly fuming. “Kingsley _always_ took you to the conferences, you should be the first name on Knatchbull’s list.”

“Is Aunt Hermione going?” Lily asked tentatively.

“Guess,” Harry said darkly.

“She’s not best pleased about the matter,” Ginny added.

“I should think not, it’s her paper they’ve stolen and misappropriated!” Albus shook his head disapprovingly. “I suppose this _is_ all Knatchbull’s doing?”

“Well, it’s his office who decides on the delegation,” Harry said, “so either him or somebody in his office deliberately decided not to include us. But he will have rubber stamped the decision, so ultimately it’s his doing.”

“I don’t suppose it could have just been an oversight, could it?” I frowned.

Al snorted.

“Trust me, you don’t accidentally overlook Harry Potter.”

It was a fair point.

“Why do you think they don’t want you there, then?” I asked Harry. “Do you think … maybe you don’t agree with the Minister on what should happen?”

Harry took a long time to answer, and even then his voice was slow and measured.

“I don’t think that removing the Statute of Secrecy is in itself a _bad_ thing,” he began. “I understand the reasoning behind it – we’re in an entirely different world now to the one that saw the Statute’s introduction, and the magical and Muggle worlds grow closer and closer together as time goes on, even if the Muggle world doesn’t know it yet. But if we were to even consider it, we would have to treat the process very delicately, and give it a lot of thought. Each individual country would have to be taken into account, because of course this is a worldwide thing. If word got out about magic here, they’d know about it in Australia in _minutes_. And we surely can’t info-dump people with this – you yourself know how seismic it is to learn about our world, Carlotta. No, I think this would be a years-long process, if we were to do it right.”

“And the Minister?” I prompted.

“I suspect,” Harry said delicately, “from the whispers I’ve heard in the Ministry, that Minister Knatchbull is not in favour of a nuanced approach. I have made it clear that I think rushing into this would be a huge mistake. Therefore, I can only assume that my exclusion from the delegation is because Britain’s official position on the Statute is that it should be lifted quickly, and they think my presence at the conference will derail their message.”

“And would it?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t sit back and let them throw themselves into this head-first like they seem to be doing.” He took off his glasses, set them on the dining table and rubbed his face wearily with his hands.

“The Ministry is an odd place to be working at the moment,” he continued, still massaging his temples. “A lot of us have worked tirelessly over the past thirty years to make it more transparent, more accountable, more _fair_. I have never wanted to be Minister for Magic, and I have never wanted to be in the Minister’s pocket. What I _have_ always wanted is a good working relationship with the Minister of the day; I don’t need a Minister who agrees with me on everything, because I’m not necessarily _right_ about everything. But I want to work for a Minister for Magic who has good intentions and who is willing to take advice from his Heads of Department and senior colleagues.”

Harry picked up his glasses from the table and set them back on his nose. He looked _weary_ , and every one of his forty-eight years. He was the same age as my own father, but he never seemed it to me – he was playful, carefree, exuberant. But seeing him now, his shoulders weighed down with stress … it felt as though I was seeing him as the saviour of the wizarding world for the first time.

“It’s been a long time since I had to worry about who sits in that office,” he finished. “I don’t like that I have to worry again.”

***

On Friday night I rang home for a catch up. Mamá and Dad were both in a good mood – Dad and I had both moved on from the train platform incident and he seemed to have resolved to not mention the issue of my job again. It should have been a nice phone call, but my mind was just all over the place.

I had an appointment with the hospital consultant about Parky in June, which was excellent news for Mamá because it meant I’d be travelling down to Guildford for a few days. She was already making plans for the week.

It was only two months away – but what if the Ministry was already preparing to lift the Statute by then? How would I be able to enjoy my time in Surrey if I knew that was around the corner?

Juanita was apparently close to setting a date for her wedding – summer next year. If the ICW voted to lift the Statute, it would surely have happened by then? How on earth would we be able to get through the event, with all my Spanish family in attendance, if they knew by then that James could do magic?

And Dad wanted to organise a lads’ golfing weekend sometime this summer, with James invited – but would that invitation still be extended to him if Dad found out James had never played golf in his life before February and still nearly beat him?

By the end of the conversation, I felt sick to my stomach. What was I to do?

Not that I really had many options – my name was already mud in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes simply because I was a Muggle; I _definitely_ couldn’t tell my family about magic while the Statute still existed. And if the Statute _did_ get lifted, I could hardly continue to hide from my parents the knowledge that James was a part of the wizarding world.

My hands were tied by whatever happened at the ICW conference. And I’d have been much happier about that if Harry and Hermione were allowed to go.

James was at home when I got back, and a worried expression fell across his face as he saw me.

“Are you okay? You don’t look good.”

“ _Ugh_.” I fell back onto the sofa next to him. “I don’t know what to _do_! I don’t want to tell Mamá and Dad about all this-” I gestured around me – “but I don’t want them to have to find out another way, either! I just can’t believe this might actually _happen_ …”

I felt bile rising at the back of my throat, and swallowed.

“I know, I can’t believe it either.” James rubbed my back soothingly. “But there’s nothing we can do about it now. All we can do is wait and see what happens next week. If anything is to change with the Statute, _all_ countries have to vote in favour, don’t forget that.”

“I know…” I chewed my lip nervously. “But until a few months ago, nobody was talking about the Statute, and already they’re meeting to discuss removing it. It’s all just happening so fast-”

A wave of nausea interrupted me; I took a few deep breaths, and swallowed again, but that wasn’t enough to quash the sensation. I leapt up and ran to the bathroom, and got there just in time to throw up into the toilet bowl.

Even as I was sitting up, wiping my face, James was right next to me with a glass of water.

“You _need_ to stop worrying, you’re making yourself sick,” he said gently. “Promise me you’ll try to relax?”

I sat back against the wall, drew my knees up underneath my chin, and took the glass from him.

“I just feel like everything’s changing,” I said, “and it scares me.”

“Of course _everything_ ’s not changing,” James said soothingly, taking my free hand in his and stroking it with his thumb. “ _We’re_ not changing, are we? I’m still here.”

I frowned, staring at the hand that he was holding. It was trembling, as it had been for a few weeks now; lately I’d become very remiss at taking all my tablets in the mornings.

“It’s just crazy, I was only living in London a year ago,” I said. “Heck, I’ve only known about you and magic for just over two years. And I’m _happy_ about all this, don’t get me wrong. I just … I don’t know how to tell my parents about it all at once.”

“You don’t even know if you have to tell them,” James reminded me. “And even if the ICW _did_ decide to lift the Statute, it’s not going to be done overnight. We’ll have time to make a plan.”

He learned forwards and kissed my forehead softly.

“Do you want to watch a film?” he suggested.

“I think I might just go to bed,” I said slowly. “I’m feeling pretty tired.”

It had been a _long_ time since I’d felt this weary. Things really were changing.

***

The following week just seemed to drag. I found myself watching every minute of coverage of the ICW talks, listening incessantly to the Wizarding Wireless Network, reading every inch of column coverage in every paper I could get my hands on. By the end of the week, every country had come to a unanimous decision.

The Statute of Secrecy was to be lifted worldwide on the twelfth of June, just over six weeks from now.

I threw up when I heard the news.

This was going to be a horrific six weeks.


	15. quince

_“This is an amazing opportunity for the entire wizarding world. We are incredibly excited about the potential for development and change, and we are looking forward to a new world, one in which wizards and Muggles live alongside each other in harmony._

_“We understand that, for some people, this will be a big change. But we urge you all to trust in us, and-”_

I interrupted the rest of Knatchbull’s speech, by turning off the television.

“I can’t believe they’re _doing_ this!” I said, pacing up and down the living room. I’d been doing that a lot over the past couple of days.

“I mean, give them _some_ credit, it’s not an awful _idea_ ,” Brigid said, “they mean well by it. It’s just … poorly implemented.”

“But that’s exactly the problem,” I said. “It doesn’t matter how good their intentions are, if they fuck up how it’s done then it’ll ruin it all. And they haven’t said anything _meaningful_ yet, all they’ve said is ‘this is going to be great, trust us’ over and over again. Which isn’t _enough_ for me to trust them.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I agree with you. I’m just … trying to find some positives.”

Brigid had shown up, unannounced, after a good two weeks of no contact at all. When I’d asked her if she was better she’d reassured me she was, but she’d spoken in a tone of voice that had made it clear she didn’t want to talk about it. I’d obliged, but it hadn’t escaped my notice that she seemed a bit thinner and paler than the last time I’d seen her. Whatever had been troubling her, it clearly still lingered.

Luckily for her, it wasn’t as though we didn’t have anything else to talk about.

“I mean, how are my parents going to find out about this? I don’t know how to _prepare_ for this, and the worst part is, there’s nothing I can do for the next six weeks but worry about it.”

“I’ve got a good suggestion,” Brie said. She whipped out her wand and Summoned a bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses from the kitchen.

“I like your style, Murph,” I said approvingly.

And that was how Brigid and I got smashed on a Saturday lunchtime.

***

Media coverage of the Statute’s imminent demise was just _bewildering_ to follow. The _Prophet_ and other outlets didn’t seem to know if they were pro or anti. And it was pretty easy to see why that was the case, all things considered.

Because on the whole, Knatchbull was a relatively popular Minister with the general public. Any misgivings James and I had about him were entirely influenced by what we heard from the likes of Harry and Hermione, but the public at large really weren’t that fussed about what Harry Potter thought about the current Minister – this was evident purely from the result of the election, when Knatchbull had beaten the candidate Harry had endorsed. To a lot of wizarding Britain, Knatchbull was someone new and exciting, someone who hadn’t been around in politics for the past twenty or so years, and so his ideas were currently popular. It meant that people _wanted_ to support him and his endeavours, even if they seemed wildly ambitious.

The other thing I’d observed in the past week or so, having spoken to many of the regular patrons about the matter, was that blood status had a huge bearing on how people felt about the move. Because on the whole, the purebloods (or at least the people without any Muggle blood for the past three generations – true purebloods were few and far between this days as I’d learned) didn’t have any misgivings about the Statute being lifted; it just wasn’t going to affect them all that much. No aspect of their lives involved Muggles or the Muggle world, they would be able to carry on with their lives as normal and there was no reason why any Muggles would even need to learn of their individual existence. Just because the Muggle world would learn about magic, didn’t mean magical people couldn’t still stay hidden if they wanted to. Quite simply, they could afford to be ambivalent about it.

It was the half-bloods, the people with Muggle connections and who were more integrated with their world, who were nervous about what was due to happen. Because for those people, there was too much riding on this for it be poorly implemented.

So it meant the media was split too; individual reporters had differing thoughts, and the _Prophet_ in particular couldn’t work out what line to officially adopt in order to best court the public opinion. So they opted for the tried and tested method – full support of Knatchbull, and sniding commentary about the ‘hypocritical detractors’, which was essentially a thinly-veiled attack on me.

The _Prophet_ had never liked me, so this didn’t come as a surprise. Firstly, they’d taken offence to James dating a Muggle when there were so many eligible young witches – it was as though they’d taken my mere existence as a snub to their daughters and nieces. Then, when James had become Public Enemy Number One, it had been publicly decided that his entire breakdown had been my fault, and I had no right to continue knowing about the wizarding world if we were no longer involved. (Admittedly I couldn’t argue with them on either of those points.) They’d been forced to jump back on the pro-James bandwagon after he won the League and the World Cup in the space of two months, but his successes weren’t enough to convince the paper to like _me_.

And now, I dared to run a wizarding pub and yet suggest that other Muggles shouldn’t know about the wizarding world. It was easy to see how it didn’t seem fair from the _Prophet_ ’s perspective.

In reality I _knew_ I was incredibly lucky to have the knowledge I had, and I completely understood the sentiment that I was in some way an imposter by running the Three Broomsticks. But I knew how to run a pub effectively, and I really didn’t see that it made a difference if my punters wore cloaks and the glasses floated in mid-air.

Most importantly, I knew how it felt to come face to face with magic with no advance warning. I could give the Ministry and the _Prophet_ fair warning about what could happen if this was poorly handled. But they just didn’t want to hear what I had to say.

Sadly, I wasn’t the only one who was being ignored.

“You would not _believe_ what’s happened,” a furious looking Lily exclaimed one lunchtime, without so much as a hello.

“What on earth is up?” I asked, stunned.

“Knatchbull’s put me on the Committee that’s overseeing the removal of the Statute,” she spat.

“ _Oh_.” I was taken aback. Lily didn’t at all seem like an obvious candidate for Knatchbull to choose; I assumed she’d made her disapproval of his plan incredibly clear already, not to mention that she was constantly being overlooked within the Ministry. “Well … well, that’s good for you, isn’t it? It means he must respect your opinion and your position as a Squ-”

“Bullshit!” she exploded. “He doesn’t respect a thing about me. All he wants to do is shut me up! Because if I’m in the Committee, I can hardly be spouting off about how this is a terrible idea, can I? It’s been done to silence me. _And_ they’re limiting my access to the Prime Minister too; they’re having a ‘Liaison Committee’ to deal with him during this whole process, and I’m not even on it! That’s literally what I’m paid to do! _Ugh_ , I fucking hate that guy!”

I blinked.

“The Prime Min-”

“No, of course not the Prime Minister, bloody Knatchbull,” she scowled. “They’ve put the PM in such a shit situation, they’re not letting him even tell his Cabinet about this ahead of us going public so he’s going to be ripped a new one by his own party once this comes out and it’s revealed he always knew about us. Even though that’s how it’s worked for hundreds of years. They’re all vultures after his job. Fucking _politics_.”

“Well…” I searched around for a positive in all this. “I mean, at least now you’re on the Committee you can have some influence-”

“Nope,” Lily said flatly. “We had a meeting today, and they wouldn’t even let me speak.” She shook her head in genuine despair. “Can you believe it? This is the biggest move we’ve made in centuries. If we get it wrong, hell will rain down on us all.” She paused. “And will they listen to the person who’s spent most of her life integrating with the Muggle world, who knows best the right way – and the wrong way – to introduce people to the idea of magic? Nope,” she said again, making a popping sound with the p, “because I’m just a lowly Squib whose opinion isn’t worthwhile. There’s no point in this Committee at all, because the ICW has already decided on a date for lifting the Statute, and it’s far too soon to do a phased approach, so there’s not really anything we can _do_ apart from sit around and wait for it. They’ve literally just created this Committee so it looks like they’re doing something, and to shut me up. And Dad and Hermione, for that matter.”

“They’re on it too?!”

“Yeah, not that you’d know from the minutes of today’s meeting. They basically shut them out, as well. Couldn’t talk unless you’re a friend of Knatchbull. It’s all a joke. _How_ they can’t see this is all going to end in a disaster, I don’t know.”

I felt nauseous again.

“So … it’s literally just going to be like a flick of a switch, one minute Muggles don’t know about us, the next they do?”

I only realised my wording after I’d said it.

“Pretty much,” sighed Lily, who either hadn’t noticed that I’d basically included myself as part of the wizarding world or just didn’t see a need to correct me. “I asked if we could start telling people early – I mean, my friends Gracie and Immy still don’t know about magic, and I don’t want them to have to find out with everyone else – but we have to respect the sanctity of the Statute up until the moment we tear it to bits apparently.” She snorted. “So you can’t tell your family beforehand, either. Nobody with Muggle connections is allowed to even give them a heads up that this is coming. It’s ridiculous-”

I zoned out of Lily’s speech. My stomach was still churning, and I really did not feel okay.

“Lil – can you watch the bar-”

I ducked through the door and sprinted up the staircase to the flat, just about making it to the bathroom in time to throw up breakfast.

Soft hands reached round and pulled my hair from my face.

“Lauren’s at the bar, it’s all good,” Lily said, rubbing my back. “You alright?”

I took a few deep breaths, and wiped my eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I said. “I just … I’m so scared … about Mamá and Dad…”

“So you’re literally worrying yourself sick,” she summed up. “Hang on, let me get you a glass of water…”

Without magic, it took her longer than it had James – and Brie, because I’d been sick in front of her too – but soon Lily returned with a glass of ice cold water, which I took gratefully.

“Has this happened a lot?” she asked gently.

“Since they announced it,” I sighed.

“Have you spoken to Audrey about it?”

I shook my head.

“You should. She can give you some anti-anxiety meds. It’s not good for you to be sick all the time.”

“I already take enough medication,” I said bitterly.

“Not if you’re throwing it all back up, you’re not,” Lily pointed out.

It was a valid point.

“I just don’t want to look pathetic, you know…”

“Of course you don’t look pathetic, don’t be daft. You’re worried about something _huge_ happening, and you’re not the only one. I’m _terrified_ about it.”

“You’re not constantly vomiting though, are you?” I said bitterly.

To that, Lily had no response.

***

“I just don’t understand how you can stand by and let this happen!” James exploded.

Two weeks had passed since the announcement, and Harry and Ginny were over for Saturday breakfast. Unfortunately, what I had hoped to be a pleasant family occasion had turned into a heated political debate.

“I _have_ to, James,” Harry reasoned. “Knatchbull is the Minister, he was the one the people chose to vote into power, I can’t be seen to be obstructing his will.”

“But he didn’t say when he was running for office that _this_ was what he was going to do!”

“Because he was never planning to _do_ this! It was only Hermione and Rose’s paper that triggered the idea in his head! And besides, this isn’t _just_ Knatchbull’s doing, the entire ICW have voted for it, and we have to respect that.”

“But they’re not _listening_ to you!”

Harry smiled wryly.

“James, the whole _world_ certainly doesn’t have to listen to what I say.”

“But you know what’s best-”

“Do I?” He shrugged. “Just because I don’t think something is right, doesn’t always mean it _isn’t_ right. The people voted for Minister Knatchbull, not Minister Potter. I can’t just intervene every time I don’t agree with something and make people change their minds.”

“But _he_ should be taking your advice-”

“Should he really?” Harry let out a sigh. “Think of it this way, James. If I were in Knatchbull’s position, if I were Minister for Magic and there was something I wanted to implement, but I knew the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement didn’t agree with the idea, why would I involve him or her in helping me implement it? I _do_ think it’s important to not just surround yourself with yes men, but there comes a point at which it’s very hard to carry out a plan if the people you rely on to carry it out don’t believe in it.”

“But when it’s something _this_ big? _How_ can we just stand by and let him-”

Harry actually slammed his fist down on the kitchen table.

“Because _he’s the Minister for Magic_ , James! It’s his _prerogative_ to introduce policy, that’s what he’s there for!”

“Even if it’s wrong-”

“Just because _you_ think it’s wrong, doesn’t mean it _is_ wrong!”

“But-”

“James, he is the _elected_ Minister! The people chose him, the people voted him in by a majority to make these decisions for us! That’s democracy! _I_ am an unelected official, and more to the point it’s the Minister of the day who determines who sits in my office; Kingsley put me there, and Knatchbull has every right to remove me from that office if he so chooses! It is _not_ my place to speak out every time I disagree with something _any_ Minister for Magic does, and it certainly won’t achieve anything if Knatchbull chooses to remove me from my post because of it! We have to be seen to be a united front, if I publicly criticise this then all I do is threaten to polarise the country, and that can’t happen! And that also means that _you_ need to stop going on about how badly you think it’s going to go,” he added, pointing a stern finger at James. “The last thing we need is people stirring up unrest.”

There was a long, pregnant pause.

“But,” James said eventually, “you still don’t want it to happen.”

Harry groaned.

“You are just _desperate_ to hear me say I don’t believe in this, aren’t you?” He looked amused all the same. “Speaking honestly, my opinion hasn’t changed since we last spoke, and I _do_ worry about how it will all be implemented. But I have to pick my battles. If I speak up and criticise everything, then nothing I say will be heeded. But if I keep quiet on some things, then when I _do_ speak up I’m more likely to be heard. If people think your aunt and I are just trying to disrupt the process, then we will lose the little influence that we currently have.”

James wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“It all sounds so _diplomatic_.”

“That’s politics for you.”

“But … you’re the Boy Who Lived! You defeated Voldemort!”

“I killed one guy, James, that doesn’t make me the oracle.” Harry paused. “In fact, technically, _I_ didn’t kill him, he killed himself with a backfiring wand. But that’s beside the point.”

“But … but…” James was clearly mentally scrambling for another argument. “But they’re not letting Lily be involved! They’ve shut her out of her own job-”

“I can understand why she feels aggrieved, but you have to consider this from the Minister’s perspective. She does a wonderful job at day-to-day liaison, but this is far bigger than that, and I would argue that it would be _irresponsible_ for those talks to be handled by a twenty year old with no previous experience in politics. And I’ve told her this already,” he added firmly. “She’s on the Ministry committee, she’s being afforded much more respect than I expected she would get.”

James sat back in his chair, all arguments exhausted.

“I just don’t like it,” he said sulkily.

“Yes, I’d gathered that,” Harry said dryly. He turned to me. “How are _you_ doing about it all?”

I smiled weakly.

“I’m good.”

I saw James open his mouth to speak, and shot him a warning glare across the table. I didn’t need his parents knowing that most of the food I was consuming was currently coming back up. I was already prepared for Ginny to lecture me about how little of my breakfast I’d touched (because obviously if I didn’t eat it in the first place, I couldn’t throw it up). And I still hadn’t been to see Audrey.

“Are you going to visit your parents for the announcement?” Harry continued. “Do you want one of us to be there with you?”

I felt tears welling up; I blinked them away furiously.

“It’ll be okay,” I said. “I’m actually already supposed to be in Guildford then anyway; I have my appointment with my consultant the day after.” It was peculiar how that had worked out so neatly. “I’ve made sure my brother and sister will be around for dinner that night, too, so they’ll all find out together.” I was hoping Juanita and Antonio would be reasonable, and would help out with Mamá and Dad.

Harry nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. And later on that morning, as James was distracted helping Ginny clear up, he pulled me to one side.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” he asked me quietly.

I nodded, but he didn’t seem convinced.

“Look, I know what I said earlier,” he continued, “but truth be told I’m far more unhappy about this than I want to let on publicly. James is very opinionated and he seems to respect what I have to say, which is why I said all that – because we _can’t_ afford to scream and shout about how this is a terrible thing, and I need him to keep his head down over the next few months. But I’m very worried about how this is going to affect you. I don’t think it will take long for the Muggle press to discover who you are once this is all out in the open, and you get enough shit from the _Prophet_ as it is.”

My stomach twisted. I hadn’t even _considered_ the Muggle press in all of this.

“It’ll be okay,” I said, aware that I was beginning to sound like a broken record. “It’ll be fine.”

Because I didn’t know what I was going to do if it wasn’t.


End file.
